What Follows the Hunter
by Arcole
Summary: Dean and Sam find themselves in a small town that isn't haunted at all. Or is it? Well, yeah since Dean and Sam are there it pretty much has to be. Birthday present for Daisy Snapdragon.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dean shifted all four bags of groceries into one hand while he dug in the pocket of his jeans for his keys and unlocked the entry door. He whistled as he opened the huge wooden door and stepped into the long hallway. The building had once been a cotton warehouse, dating back to pre-Civil War days, but had been transformed into a two story loft-style apartment building with tall ceilings, glossy wooden floors and huge windows.

It was easily the nicest place he and Sam had ever lived. He loved everything about it.

WHOOM! A sudden explosion rocked the building, sending dust cascading on his head and nearly throwing him from his feet. The door of his place blew open, sending shards of wood across the hall.

"Sam!" he yelled as he dropped the groceries and ran. The inside of his place looked like a bomb had hit it. Little fires burned everywhere. Furniture lay tossed like toys. Sooty blast marks streaked the pale yellow walls, a color the girls had chosen to make the place look brighter. Smoke hung in the air, thick with the stench of gunpowder.

Sam!" he called again, turning over the couch to make sure his brother wasn't beneath it.

A voice in the hallway called his name. "Dean? You looking for me?"

He stumbled through the debris of the room. Sam poked his head in the door, his arm draped over Abigail's shoulder. "What's the matter?"

Relieved to see that his brother was fine, Dean began searching for the dog. "Where's Scooter?"

"Right here." The little white dog emerged from the bedroom, yawning and stretching like nothing was wrong.

He coughed in the smoke, amazed that anyone else could breathe, and pushed his way through the debris back to the doorway. Dust filtered down from the ceiling but the rest of the building looked okay.

"At least Elizabeth's still at work," he sighed.

"No, she's home," Abigail offered. "She took the afternoon off. Said you guys had big dinner plans." Abby gave him big smile and punched him lightly on the arm.

"Lizzy's home?" Terror ripped through him. Steps turned into strides turned into a dead run and he found himself pounding at her door. "Elizabeth! Are you in there? Are you okay?"

Her door swung open and she stood there before him, whole and unhurt.

"Hey, you." She began, then squeaked as he threw his arms around her in relief. "You smell like smoke. Is everything okay?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Didn't you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The explosion. Our apartment just got bombed. Don't tell me you didn't hear it."

He took her by the hand and pulled her down the hall where Sam and Abby calmly picked up the dropped groceries. "The eggs are no more," Sam declared sadly as he pushed broken pieces of shell back into the grocery sack.

Dean stood before the doorway of the apartment. The door hung in the frame. He gingerly stepped inside. All the furniture was in place. The yellow walls were still yellow.

"What the hell? I saw it. I heard it." His heart still raced; his ears still buzzed from the concussion. He looked back at Elizabeth. "You could smell smoke. Tell me you could smell the smoke!"

She nodded. "But it's gone now."

Something whistled overhead, just like in the movies, followed by a deafening boom. He grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her to the floor. "Get down!" he yelled as the floor heaved again, dust falling everywhere. The walls shook around them, and he could hear the sounds of screams outside.

"Are you okay?" he asked her once the impact had settled. He pulled her to her feet, checking her over for injury. "Sammy, you and Abby okay?"

"Um. Dean. We're fine. What's going on here?" Sam sounded very calm for a man living through what appeared to be a mortar attack.

The three of them stared at Dean ˜curiously. The walls were still standing. The floors were clean. He could hear the air conditioning unit hum, but no screams.

"You don't hear it, do you," he stated rather than asked. "Nobody can see this but me."

Sam put down the groceries and grabbed the EMF meter out of Dean's pack. He ran the scanner over and around Dean. "Dude, you've got a low level field all around you." Then his brother frowned. "Wait, it's increasing. Really increasing."

He cringed as he heard the bomb fall, as he felt the blastwave, as he let part of the ceiling just fall in on his head. To his deep relief, the timbers fell around him but didn't touch him. To his even deeper relief, the others weren't touched either. Scooter just sniffed around him in a circle, looked up at him, barked once, and lay down.

"Maybe we should leave," Elizabeth suggested. "It might be better outside."

Dean glanced through the window of the apartment. The town was burning. People were running everywhere. Men and horses. Men in uniform.

"Lizzy, was this town ever in a battle?"

"Yeah, the Battle of Copper Creek. But that's been 150 years ago."

"And this building is still standing? All original?"

"According to the brochure, it's the same building. It's on the Register of Historic Places."

Another shell hit and this time he could see dirt thrown up in the air outside the height of the trees. "I think I'm safest in here then." He closed his eyes and tried not to feel it, tried not to hear it. But with every mortar that hit, with every bullet that zinged through the room, he flinched.

Elizabeth moved close to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her and tried to breathe, knowing that as long as he held her, he was still present with her, with Sam. He was still in the world as long as he could feel her embrace. Her arms tightened around him and she held him until the world finally grew quiet and he could open his eyes again.

Dean lifted his head from her shoulder.

"You here again?" Sam asked him in a quiet voice. Dean nodded. "In that case let me give you the good news and the bad news."

"The good news?"

"The good news is the girls were right. The town of Hunter isn't haunted."

Dean frowned at him. "So how do you explain all the crazy shit happening over the past three months, huh? This place is haunted to the core."

Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "That's the bad news. The town's not haunted, Dean. You are."

Three Months Earlier

"So what's next? I doubt there's anything going on in this place," Dean declared as he and Sam slid into an empty booth in the little diner.

"It would be nice to have a quiet day or two." His brother pulled the beat-up laptop from his bag and opened it. Sam frowned and pecked at his keyboard. "Excuse me," he addressed the table next to them. A pair of young women dressed in workout clothes turned toward him. "Is there public wi-fi around here?"

"In Hunter?" One of the girls laughed. "Maybe in the next county. Sweetie, you're in the backwoods."

Her voice was rich and warm and her Alabama accent ran over Dean like honey. "But the library does have internet," she continued with a smile. As Sam closed his laptop and began to slide out of the booth, she added, "Until it closes at five."

Sam slid back into his seat with a sigh as Dean took a moment to study the young woman. Her brown hair was pulled up in a bun and she wore a baseball shirt and a pair of black yoga pants that stopped just below her knees. His eyes hovered over her chest. He couldn't help it. She had a fantastic set of-

"I recommend the barbecue plate," she suggested firmly. His eyes snapped up to her face, to a set of large, exotic brown eyes. At first he thought his ogling had pissed her off, then she arched an eyebrow at him.

"Pork is a nice sweet meat," he heard himself say then kicked himself. Way to impress a girl. Quote _Babe_ randomly at her.

"That'll do, pig," she replied and that warm honey accent ran over him again.

The waitress ambled by and he and Sam ordered the barbecue and a couple of sodas since there wasn't a beer to be seen. "Elizabeth? Abby? You girls want some more tea?" the woman asked.

Elizabeth, huh? "Tell me, Elizabeth," Dean began as the waitress moved away, "what is there to do after five o'clock in Hunter?"

"Nothing," her blonde friend Abby interjected.

"Well, the combination gym and tanning salon downtown closes at 8," Elizabeth added with a wry grin. "If you guys are going to be in town very long, I would recommend getting cable."

"We're journalists," Dean began as he slid to the end of the bench to better converse with the lovely Elizabeth. "Right now we're working on a series called 'The Most Haunted Places in America.'"

"Well, Mister. . .?" Elizabeth began.

A thousand aliases ran through his brain, but to his surprise his own name fell out of his mouth. "Winchester. Dean Winchester. And this is my brother Sam." Sam kicked him under the table.

"Winchester. As in the rifle? Are you sure your names aren't Smith and Wesson?"

He laughed. Colt would have been so close in so many ways. "Nope. We're really Winchesters. From Kansas." Sam kicked him again and gave him the serious stink eye, which Dean ignored. "So how about it? Where's the haunted house? The spooky graveyard?"

"There isn't one," Elizabeth stated. Her friend Abigail agreed.

"So what do you show all the tourists?" he asked.

"What tourists? Nobody comes to Hunter. They pass through Hunter on their way to other places." The girls laughed. "Nothing ever happens here."

BANG! The sound of a heavy impact boomed against the wall above Dean's head. "What the hell?" He moved away as the wall boomed again. He and Sam leaped out of the booth as something behind the wall beat against it like a giant's hammer.

The cafe's other customers also jumped to their feet as the pounding continued. The front door flew open and a teenage boy ran in. "Something's tearing up the hardware store!" he called.

The entire place emptied in a moment as everyone ran outside to stand in front of the huge glass windows of the old hardware store next door. Dean crouched on the sidewalk and pressed his face into the glass until he could see high against the wall next to the restaurant. Some commotion up there knocked items off a tall, deep shelf, launching them out into the store to crash into shelves and racks.

A giant box of dishes tumbled fifteen feet to the floor, bursting open with a crash. A shower of pink and green floral shards flew up into the air, then fell like a thousand knives to pierce into the wooden floorboards in a disturbing display. An old metal washtub sailed off the shelf, circled through the store in a giant loop like a flying saucer, then banged against the front glass before touching down. The rim sang against the floor for a few seconds as it spiraled to a halt. Hats, old dolls still in their boxes, farm implements, books-anything stored on that top shelf came flying off as if hit by a hurricane.

After several minutes, Dean could see one item still left on the shelf. An antique wooden box, a little larger than a shoebox, perched on the edge. He waited, his cheek still pressed to the glass, peering up at a sharp angle for a good view, certain it would swan dive to the floor at any moment.

To his surprise, it did not do so. Instead, all went quiet inside the store.

He looked back at his brother. Sam's mouth still hung open. The two girls from the restaurant clung to each other, their eyes wide in terror. Dean just gave them all a huge grin. "So you still think your town's not haunted?"

As it turned out, Elizabeth was an attorney in town, fresh out of law school and working for one of the established offices. No matter how small the town, it seemed there were always plenty of lawyers. When Sam heard that, Dean caught the flash of regret that flickered over his face. Damn. Maybe he'd never wanted to do anything but hunt, but once upon a time Sam had plans for himself that didn't involve guns full of rock salt and demons out for blood.

Her friend Abigail was an elementary school teacher and both of them lived in a converted apartment building nearby. The only motel in town was practically falling down, and their landlord had a sublet that could be rented by the month, so the two brothers ended up just down the hall from Elizabeth and one floor below Abby.

It took only a couple of trips to the thrift store to find furniture for the place. In fact, when word got around that the Winchesters were going to stay a few weeks and research a story on the town's history, everyone from the Rotary Club to the Methodist ladies' outreach pitched in to set them up in housekeeping.

Their cover left Sam plenty of time to work in the library doing research on the mystery box, while Dean drove around the countryside or hung around the courthouse and the police station with his ears open for more strange occurrences.

When the sheriff's department found a body, he was surprised to see Elizabeth turn up at the scene.

"You a coroner too?" he asked.

"Oh no," she shivered. "We caught the police report on the scanner at work, and the property owner is an old family friend. I knew my daddy would want me to check it out."

They stood at a distance and watched through the barn doors as the police uncovered a partially decomposed body. Even from there, Dean could see that the corpse had been wrapped in canvas or cloth of some kind and secured by a length of rope.

"Hope that's not anybody you know," he stated.

"The owner is in the nursing home. None of her family live around here anymore. And nobody has been reported missing in Hunter that I'm aware of," she replied.

Dean moved closer as the deputy unwrapped the mummified remains of a man in a blue suit. With a grimace, he reached into the jacket's inside pocket and pulled out a wallet. "He's got a Louisiana license on him. A 1956 Louisiana license."

"He's also got a hole in his head," Elizabeth noted, having moved in as well. Dean was impressed. "Who found him?"

"Galen Reynolds is renting the place to cut hay to help with Mrs. Mattie's bills. He came out to get the tractor and saw this lying on the floor," the officer stated.

"Who'd dump a body in a barn after fifty years?" Dean mused. Then he looked up. An old storage platform far above had given way. The edges of the hole were blackened as if it had been burned.

Dean stood and walked over to a ladder built against the barn wall. "You mind if I take a look up there?"

"Go ahead. Just don't fall and break your neck. One dead body is enough."

The ladder was old but sturdy. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the loft. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the old boards, providing just enough illumination to reveal a platform full of old boxes and crates. The floor seemed sturdy enough, and there was no sign of a fire anywhere but the location directly above the body. His best guess was this body wanted to be found. But after fifty years of secrecy, why now? The barn was right off the main drag, too. Everybody in town passed by at least twice a day. He'd been past the place three times in the last two days himself.

"See anything up there?" the deputy asked once he'd made his way down again.

"Just boxes and a hole in the floor. I think it might have fell through. Weird."

"That's the truth."

Dean walked Elizabeth back to her car. "I got the victim's name and address from Billy. I might do a little research in a while," she declared.

"You mind texting it to me?" he asked. "Sam will want to look into it too. Nothing like a murder mystery to make a story worth reading."

And just like that, he got her number. He gave himself an imaginary high-five and decided to push his luck a little further.

"Are you doing anything for dinner?" he asked her. "I don't think Sam would mind if I skipped Ramen noodle night for once."

"Actually I'd invited Abby to come eat with me. Why don't you and Sam come over and join us? I don't think she'd mind hanging out with your brother a bit." Elizabeth gave him a smile and arched one eyebrow at him. It was cool as hell and super sexy, all at the same time. He tried to do the same, but only managed to squint at her.

He laughed. "How do you do that?"

"Years of practice."

Dinner tasted like something out of a story he'd read, something deep South and warm. There were peas and fried okra and a roast that fell apart in his mouth. God, that girl could cook. Finally he pushed away his plate with a deep sigh and tossed his napkin to the table. Sam was still sopping gravy and jamming rolls in his mouth.

"I'm stuffed." Dean meant every word. All he wanted to do was kick back on the couch and watch Gator Hunters until he fell asleep.

"That's a shame. I made pie."

Pie. Elizabeth walked toward the kitchen table carrying a round glass pie plate. A light practically shone around her.

She sat it before them and cut a slice. Chocolate. With meringue topping.

"You make this?" he stammered.

"Just like my grandmother taught me. She said this pie made my Pawpaw propose to her."

Dean took a bite. It was heaven. It was everything he'd always wanted, everything he'd always dreamed of right there on a plate. Home. Safety. Belonging. Peace.

Elizabeth smiled at him and gave him that eyebrow again. "How do you like it?"

"Marry me?" he asked. And only part of him was kidding.

"Well, you pretty much made a fool of yourself tonight." Sam laughed as they walked through the door of their new temporary place.

"I couldn't help it. I was full of roast and pie."

Sure enough, after dinner they'd gone to the living room and started watching some movie. Within only a few minutes, he'd leaned back and pulled Elizabeth against him. Before he knew it, he was in dreamland. He'd gone to sleep so heavily, he'd apparently started to snore a little since Sam had thrown a couch pillow at his head. Any other time, he'd have come up fighting, given their track record of violence. But for some reason in her apartment with her in his arms, he just snorted and threw it back at him. Something deep inside told him that in that place, with her, he was safe.

He brushed his teeth and crawled into bed but it felt empty. He pulled a pillow into his chest and tried to sleep. As he finally drifted off, his last thought was of the way she fit into his arms like she'd always been there.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sam grunted and stretched as he pushed back from the computer. "I've researched that box every which way I can think of. Nobody at the store knows what it is or where it came from. Only that it's been there as long as anybody can remember, sitting on the back of that shelf covered up with other stuff. The best I can do for explanation is a Shirley Jackson story."

"Huh?" His research partner Abigail looked up from her book.

"'The Lottery.' That story features an old wooden box like this one, filled with blank slips of paper like this one."

"How can this box be related to that story?" she asked. "Shirley Jackson never came here. Nobody from here ever met her as far as I know."

"True," Sam replied. "But the lottery she describes may not be entirely a work of fiction. Old tales speak of fertility rituals similar to the one in the story. Some of those rituals called for human sacrifice."

"Nobody ever sacrificed anybody in Hunter," Abby declared. "Even though they've thrown a few football coaches to the wolves over the years."

Sam turned off the computer and signed out with the librarian. Abby picked up her bookbag and they walked back down the street toward home.

"The interesting thing about that box is that it was made from pieces of an old shipping container. There is a scrap of paper stuck to the bottom dated 1818 and addressed to a town called Titus."

Abby laughed. "Titus was the town before Hunter. It was about two miles down the highway off the old Jackson Military road. The stories say that place was hell on wheels."

Sam perked up. "Really? In what way?"

"Saloons, brothels, gunfights and outlaws. To hear the stories it was a real den of iniquity. But when the railroad came in the 1880s, everyone moved from Titus to the new rail depot at Hunter. All of Titus was left to rot where it stood, except for one house."

"Which one?" Sam asked as they walked.

She pointed to a large two-story Victorian. "The Patterson house. They had it moved into town. Now it's a bed and breakfast. Rumor had it that it was the Titus brothel. They also say that a local trainrobber Yancy Phillips was shot to death there by a jealous woman."

"And you said there weren't any spooky stories in this town." Sam teased.

"Trust me, there's nothing spooky about that house unless it's the price of the food. I've been to at least a dozen showers over there and never seen a thing out of the ordinary," she declared.

"Do they serve brunch?" Sam asked.

"Every Saturday morning. The quiche is excellent."

Sam put his arm over her shoulder and grinned.

"I'm not going to each brunch at a bed and breakfast with you," Dean declared. "Brunch is a made up word for a made up meal. It's either bacon and eggs or it's a cheeseburger. I don't want food that can't make up it's mind what meal it's for."

"Abby invited Elizabeth too."

And with that Dean was in.

He ended up being into a number of things. Sam kept digging at the box. Elizabeth discovered the identity of the mystery corpse-turned out the old lady in the nursing home once had a boyfriend that her husband found out about. She was pretty heartbroken to discover that her dearly departed husband had lied about Jimmy taking the bus out of town.

Lights began to come on at night at the old hospital even though the power had been cut to it years ago. When the local teenagers who went to investigate came back traumatized, the Winchester brothers took that mystery on as well, joined by a pair of state investigators that put Mulder and Scully to shame.

Park looked Korean but said his family had been in south Alabama so long they'd turned redneck. His accent was as Southern as cornbread and he was a huge Auburn fan.

His partner Greenough looked for all the world like Kareem Abdul Jabbar but Dean believed he'd give Sammy a real run for his money in a game of Jeopardy, especially if Alex Trebec added Paranormal as a category. Once the pair of SBI agents had interviewed the high schoolers, they'd also asked about the other crazy happenings in town and volunteered to hang around.

It took the pair an hour to realize Dean and Sam weren't really journalists, and only fifteen minutes after that to make them on their true identities.

"Don't worry, we're not going to turn you in," Park assured them. "Maybe you've got some bad press from the federal boys, but we've seen enough crazy over the past six years to let that slide."

"That does not, however, mean we have the power to clear you of any of the various allegations made against you," Greenough warned.

"The quick and dirty is nobody is going to say nothing to nobody about y'all," Park concluded.

Sam shot Dean a questioning look.

"I didn't understand a word either of them said," Dean replied with a shrug.

To make matters more complicated, he and Sam now had a dog.

The little white dog couldn't weigh much over six pounds. He was sweet, well mannered, and clean, but didn't have a collar. The little dog was just sitting outside the door of their building like he was waiting on them to come home. When they opened the door, he just scooted inside and ran ahead of them to their door then sat and waited on them, his little black eyes shining.

The girls fell in love with him immediately and within a matter of minutes, it was official. Dean had to admit that the dog was adorable with its little black button nose and round feet. "Come on then, Scooter," he declared and opened the door. The little dog ran inside and jumped onto the back of the couch, curling up like a cat.

In fact, the dog slept so much, Dean decided he had to be part cat. The dog slept curled up on the couch, on Sam's legs, against Dean's back, on Elizabeth's lap, on Abigail's feet. If any of them sat or lay down anywhere in three apartments, the dog was there asleep on somebody.

Plus, the dog never made a mess and never made much noise. So when he woke Dean in the middle of the night one night standing on the bed and growling, Dean immediately got out of bed and pulled on his jeans. "What is it, Scoot?" he asked. "What do you hear, boy?"

Outside the window the blue light of a police car flashed in the distance. Within moments, his cell phone was ringing. Park told him to get dressed and get downstairs. Something had happened. Dean pulled on his shoes and a t-shirt. Sam was in the kitchen, fully dressed as well.

"Just got off the phone with Greenough. Something's up." Sam shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed a water out of the fridge.

Dean did the same. "Park just called me. Maybe the other shoe just dropped."

Downstairs, the SBI agents pulled up in their unmarked Ford Taurus. "Come on, guys. It's bad." Park looked worried.

The brothers followed the Taurus to the edge of town. As they approached a large field on the side of the highway, they could see a number of police cars, lights flashing, flashlights waving back and forth across the stubbly ground.

They got out of the car and Greenough led them to the trunk of the Taurus. He pulled out a pair of flashlights and passed them to the brothers. Then he opened another case and pulled out an oversized derringer. He loaded it with a shotgun shell in one barrel and a fat deer slug in the other and passed it to Park.

Park checked the safety then stowed it in his holster. Greenough repeated the process with another one, then closed the trunk.

"What are you packing there?" Dean had to ask.

"Multi-purpose defense," Park replied. "The shell is full of rock salt and the slug is for more material bad guys."

"Rock salt?" Dean couldn't believe it. Cops with rock salt. What was the world coming to?

"We've seen some really crazy shit," Greenough replied. His uncharacteristic use of foul language only underscored the unease the group felt.

Billy the sheriff's deputy met the two agents. "Glad you brought extra hands," Billy told them. "We need all the help we can get."

"What we got?" Park asked.

"Missing kid. Jeremy Nichols, twelve. He was out with some buddies in the woods, started screaming that a monster was chasing him. The other boys he was with swear that a dinosaur carried him off," the sheriff stated.

"Probably just a big practical joke little Jeremy is playing," Dean surmised.

"We thought the same thing three hours ago. Twenty minutes ago, we found this." Billy held out a torn jacket, blood staining the white lining. "His mom ID'd it. It's his."

Dean and Sam looked at each other. "Dinosaur, huh? How about alligator?"

"We're fifteen miles from the river and don't get gators this far north."

"Big dog?" Greenough guessed. "Something odd colored? Like a big brindle pit bull or something?"

"Maybe. But check this out before you start thinking dog. The kids said the monster crossed this field. The irrigation system sprang a leak and a section of the ground is pretty wet. We got a track." The four men followed the officer across the field where the others were standing.

Big floodlights had been set up. A ring of uniformed officers and searchers talked quietly, gesturing and pointing. The mood was somber. As he stepped into the light, Dean could see why. The tracks didn't look like anything anyone around there had ever seen before.

The huge paw bore three toes, two in front and one in back like an eagle's talon-if eagles were eight feet tall. Each toe terminated in a claw that gouged into the damp soil at least seven inches.

The men squatted close to the tracks, measuring and examining. "Four legged, with a stride about like a grizzly bear's," one of the officers stated. "But that's no bear track. We checked with the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries to see if there'd been any signs of bears or other large predators. We checked with all the zoos within two hundred miles."

"Sitichula," Greenough and Sam whispered at the same time.

"Siti-what?" Park asked.

Greenough gave Sam a look, then pulled all four of them off to the side out of earshot of the others. "Sitichula. Choctaw legend says its a four-legged serpent or dragon, similar to the unhcegila or ahuizhtotl. It has feet like a giant bird of prey and a body like a lizard."

" And to a group of twelve year old boys, it looks like Jurassic Park." Dean tossed his flashlight in the air and caught it again with a snap of his wrist. "Boys, we're going to need bigger guns."

"Not to mention more salt." Park eyed his pistol's single cartridge with a frown.

"I'm not sure salt's going to get this one," Sam declared. "Those are physical tracks. Unless your slug is silver?"

Greenough shook his head. "The department's budget does not allow for silver. Besides, this is crazy. This is more than a few apparitions hanging around the old hospital. This is a full-on manifestation of a Meso-American mythological beast. The last time I checked we didn't have a shaman to give advice on how to handle it."

Dean watched in amusement as the formerly tight-assed Greenough began to lose it. Park also looked a little loopy in the moonlight. Time for him and Sammy to take over, he decided.

"We've had some experience in this area," Sam interjected. "We'll be right back. See if those hunters over there can get an idea which way this thing went."

Sam grabbed Dean by the elbow and dragged him to the side. "Maybe Dennis and I have this thing ID'd right. Maybe we don't. But if we're dealing with some ancient Meso-American monster, I am not sure any of our usual tools will be able to defeat it."

Dean pulled the SBI out of their pow-wow with the local boys. "We gotta get some stuff from the car."

He opened the trunk of the Impala, shoved aside the junk and opened the arsenal. Park whistled beside him.

"Is all this legal?" Greenough asked in a whisper.

"Sure it is," Dean lied. "But more importantly, it's effective. I've got more salt, holy water, holy fire, yew, yarrow, nightshade, fennel, marigold, coneflower, magnesium, aluminium oxide, and some flares. Some of this has to work."

The guys stood there in thought. "No." Sam declared at last. "Think Native American. What's sacred to Native Americans?"

"Maize?" Greenough suggested. "Corn?"

"So we're going to throw whole kernel at it?" Dean asked.

"How about cornmeal?" Park thought aloud. "That would load."

"Mix it with holy water, cook it with holy fire, and we could launch fritters at it," Dean only half joked.

"It's after midnight. All the stores are closed around here. Are we going to break into the Piggly Wiggly for a bag of Martha White self-rising?" Park asked.

"Nope." Dean shut the trunk decisively. "I know where to go."

 _Knock. Knock, knock. Knock. Knock, knock._

A muffled voice behind the door told him to hang on. The door opened just enough for her to see through the chain. Dean tried to look as friendly and non-creepy as possible, but couldn't stop grinning at her. She was so adorable, all sleepy with her pj's on.

"Lizzy! Hey, were you asleep? I'm sorry. I'll come back later." He half turned but didn't go anywhere. When she said okay and started to close the door, he had to think fast. "No, wait. Since you're up already can I come in for a second? I need to borrow some cornmeal."

"Cornmeal?" she asked as she opened the door. She peered past him into the hallway where the three stooges tried to look nonchalant. "You guys making hush puppies at midnight?"

"Yeah. We were up playing cards and just got hungry. I remembered how good those corn muffins were that you made the other night and thought we'd try to make some, but the store's closed." He wandered into her kitchen and began to check the canisters. None of them were labelled and he couldn't tell one from the other. "This it?" he held up a glass jar.

"That's brown sugar." She sounded suspicious and a little bit pissed. She reached into the cabinet and pulled down a white paper pack. "This is cornmeal."

He took it, glad to see it was almost full. "I'll bring you some more tomorrow," he promised.

"When you come back, bring the truth too."

He kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Lizzybelle. You are wonderful."

She smiled at him despite herself. "Yeah right. Go play cards. And quit smoking dope. If you've got raw cornmeal munchies, you've got serious problems."

Dean's eyes popped open. "Smoking! Yes! You are brilliant! Thank you, thank you." He kissed her cheek again and ran down the hall into the apartment.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked as he dumped the cornmeal out into the biggest pot he could find.

"You guys get the shells. We need a couple of packs of smokes. Who's got 'em?" The three looked at each other and then at him.

"What? I don't smoke," Dean snapped.

Finally Park reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels.

"I knew it!" Greenough stabbed the air in his partner's face with an outstretched finger. "I knew you hadn't quit."

"So sue me," Park grumbled back at him. "Why do you want my only pack of smokes?"

"Tobacco is sacred in most Native American cultures. Usually it's mixed with other herbs, but all we've got is cornmeal and a box of garlic salt," Dean explained as he began to shred the cigarettes into the pot.

"It'll have to do," Sam sighed as he began to open shotgun shells.

Soon the men had their ammunition prepped.

Park called Billy on the walkie. "Got anything out there?"

"Where did you guys go? We need help out here," Billy responded. "We got some tracks headed into toward the canyon."

"The canyon?" Sam asked.

"Real neat place," Dean explained. "It's got a waterfall and caves. Very cool."

"When did you go to a canyon?"

"While you were at the library. It's called Devil's Canyon. I had to check it out." Dean packed up the remaining cornmeal in ziplock bags and tossed them into his backpack. "No devils though. Just pretty. I might take Elizabeth on a picnic there."

Sam grabbed his own pack and stole several of the bags. "Nope. I'm taking Abigail there. You've already been."

Scooter sat at the front door of the apartment as if waiting for them. "You can't go with us, Scoots. That siti-chewy monster would eat you." Dean gave the little dog a rub on the head and was rewarded with a lick on the hand. As they others left, Scooter demanded a pat on the head from each of them.

They pulled into the entrance of the canyon to see the sheriff's department and the town police force standing around a car hood with a map spread over it.

Sam and Greenough moved in close enough to see and after a moment of deliberation, picked their search quadrant. "Caves?" Sam asked. Greenough nodded.

"We're heading deep," Greenough stated as they four men moved away from the rest of the searchers. Dean led the way down the trail, having been there only a couple of days earlier in the daylight. It was well marked and easy walking, the path having been used by all the groups of people who'd lived in the area over the centuries.

Some kind of sixth sense guided them down the path. The moon glimmered through the branches of the evergreens that arched overhead. To Dean's surprise he could hear the sound of a kid crying in the distance.

Surprised that the boy was still alive, he moved closer, his double barrelled shot-pistol in hand. The boy cowered in a shallow cave that angled into the side of a tall bluff. He was bloody but didn't seem too badly injured. Lying nearby, however, was a giant sleeping beast the likes of which none of them had ever seen.

"I'm not sure about going in shooting," Dean whispered. "We might just piss it off."

"How about working a banishment?" Sam suggested.

"You guys know how to work Choctaw magic?" Greenough asked.

"Tell you what," Dean began, "I'm going to see if I can get close enough to ring it with cornmeal. "

"Are you crazy?" Park's voice grew louder than any of them wanted and the rest shushed him. "Are you crazy?" he repeated more quietly. "That thing will tear you apart if you get anywhere near it."

"I don't know about that." Dean tried to sound more confident than he felt. "If I can at least box it in on a couple of sides we might limit its options enough to take it out with the guns."

"That's provided the cornmeal holds it in the first place," Sam added. His brother shook his head. "I don't know about any of this, Dean. I agree with Park. I think you're crazy."

"Hey, crazy like a spirit fox." Dean took out several packs of cornmeal and his knife. Carefully he cut a corner off the bottom of each to make a spout. "If Chewy over there starts to get out of hand, start shooting."

He edged his way closer to the entrance of the cave, intending to get the first line between the beast and the boy. He motioned for the boy to be quiet and very still. Working quickly but carefully, he dropped a trail of the powdery mixture on the ground.

The beast's tail twitched toward him and appeared as if it were going to fall out across the cornmeal without hesitation. To Dean's relief, however, the tip curled back in the air onto itself and settled again in a curl on the ground. He flashed a big grin to the rest of the team and gave the boy a thumbs up.

That was all it took for the kid to lose it. He leaped to his feet and ran tearing through the woods screaming at the top of his lungs.

The sitichula sprang up and lunged, but Sam, Park, and Greenough met it with a hail of shells. The beast jumped and snarled, leaping against the agony of the mixture. With each hit, it also seemed to fade in and out, like a TV station losing signal.

Scrambling to avoid its claws and teeth, Dean poured more of the mixture on the ground, hoping a full containment circle would complete the banishment. The beast spun at him, snapping his teeth. Sam ran ahead to the other side, avoiding fire from the SBI boys while trying to join the opposite side of the circle.

After a few tense moments, only a few feet on the far inside wall of the cave remained to be closed. The creature couldn't leave the cave but until the circle was finished, it couldn't be sent back to wherever it came from.

Dean crept closer, pinning himself to the stone wall and reaching as far as he could. Without warning, the tip of the creature's tail whipped high against the wall, searching for a path out of the circle. The snaky tip darted toward him and wrapped itself around his face. He jerked his head downward as fast as he could to keep the beast from looping around his neck, practically giving himself whiplash in the process but managing to slip free.

His cheek burned like his face been dragged over astroturf, and his eye watered so heavily he wondered if maybe it was bleeding. He staggered backward, shaking away the pain, as the beast thrashed and beat against the wall of the bluff, sending down showers of dirt and rock.

"You okay?" Sam called.

"No. It's going to send the ceiling down on me." Clods of dirt pelted him about the shoulders. "Bomb the wall!"

He and Sam threw their remaining bags of cornmeal against the wall, hoping enough would fall to the ground to complete the circle. To his deep relief, the beast stopped thrashing and stood there inside the finally enclosed binding field, its sides heaving and its eyes rolling in anger.

"What do we do now?" Park asked. "We're out of shells and out of bags."

"We've got to banish it." Sam declared and offered Dean a helping hand as he crawled out of the back of the cave.

"How?" Greenough threw up his hands.

Dean shrugged then winced as the muscles of his neck protested. Sam pulled out his journal and began thumbing through it for anything that might help. Greenough turned to his partner.

"Don't look at me," Park declared. "I'm Baptist."

"Well, I'm Church of God, but there's no way I'm laying hands in prayer on that thing." Greenough began to pace.

Dean sat against a tree, trying not to touch his face. "Is my eye still there? I can't see a damned thing," he asked at last.

Park knelt beside him and peered into his face. "It's there. Just swollen. You look like you got a chemical burn on your cheek though. We need to get you to the ER."

"Not while Chewy here is still stomping around," Dean replied firmly. "He's got to go."

Park sat back on his heels, frowning in thought. "The Choctaw believed in good and evil. Maybe that's all we need to do-call on good."

He walked over to the beast, bowed his head and began to pray. "Father God, we need your help. This thing doesn't belong here. It's evil and dangerous and has already hurt somebody. It's got to go, but we can't get rid of it. We come to you and ask that you send it back where it belongs."

He paused and opened his eyes a crack to see if it had helped any. The sitichula was still there. He sighed and continued, "We ask you to bless this cornmeal and tobacco, even though tobacco isn't good for you. Oh, and I'm sorry I'm still smoking when I told Dennis and Teresa I quit. I shouldn't have lied to them. But bless the corn at least, even though it's probably GMO and not really good for you either."

"John Ross, you are making this worse," Greenough declared, jumping to his feet.

Dean looked over at Sam, who was still searching the book.

"Let me take over." Greenough moved closer and put a hand on Park's shoulder. "Lord, bless these plants of the earth, no matter what else we think about them. Let your light shine down on us and cast the evil back where it goes. We trust in you and in your power to do this, in the holy name of Jesus our Lord and Savior. Amen."

The beast began to circle in his tight little prison, growling softly. Overhead a ray of the dawn sunshine sent a soft glow through the trees, a warm reddish orange that crept down the side of the bluff. When it touched the top of the beast's back, the creature howled once then vanished in a swirl.

"Hey, you guys did it!" Sam exclaimed.

"Is it gone? Really gone?" Park gasped. He and Greenough embraced then high-fived each other.

"Thank you, Lord." Greenough looked up at the sky.

"Amen to that." Dean took Sam's outstretched hand and pulled himself up from the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Sunrise didn't last long enough in Dean's opinion. Whatever ray of light managed to sneak through the trees to zap Chewy back to Choctaw hell vanished into the predawn sky as they made their way back down the path to the parking lot.

Billy met them a short distance from the others. "We sent the kid on to the hospital in Winston. He had teeth marks all over his chest and stomach but none of the punctures were very deep. What in the hell was it that had him? He didn't make any sense at all."

"Big pit bull. Ran off into the woods," Greenough stated evenly.

"A pit bull didn't do that to him." Billy pointed at Dean's face.

"No, that was a big cypress limb. Popped him right in the eye while we were chasing the dog." Park edged past Billy, deflecting his attention from Dean. "We're going to take him into the ER to make sure he didn't get tree bark stuck in it."

Sam agreed and tossed their backpacks into the trunk. "Yeah. We'll follow you guys."

Dean didn't add to the drama. He slid into the Impala's passenger seat and tried not to touch his face. It burned and itched and he just wanted to scratch it off-his entire face, eyeball and all. He whiteknuckled the door handle with his right hand and clenched his shirt with the other. "How far is this ER anyway?" he growled.

Sam rolled down the window and asked. At Billy's reply of twenty minutes, Dean began curse. He bailed out of the car before Sam could even get it back into park.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam called as Dean popped open the trunk and jerked out his backpack.

Dean rummaged through the bag in growing desperation. "I gotta have something in here. Some more cornmeal, some water, a little bottle of tequila, something to stop this before I rip my eye out."

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders and peered into his face. Dean could only see through the one eye, and that was going blurry, but he could see Sam's expression change to worry, then to fear. Sam snatched the bag out of his hand, dumped it on the ground, and began to tumble through the contents.

Park and Greenough noticed the activity and came over. "What's up?" Park asked then took another look at Dean. "Oh that's worse. Lots worse."

"Have you got any more cornmeal? Any water? Anything?" Sam continued to plunder the bag. "I got nothing left in here."

"I've got salt in the trunk and a warm Mountain Dew. I don't think you want that." Park answered.

"What's this?" Greenough asked from the trunk of the Impala. He held up a Dasani bottle.

"Yes!" Sam grabbed the bottle. "Holy water. The last we had."

"You've found a priest who'll bless Dasani?" Greenough asked.

Sam poured a little of the water over Dean's face.

"Aaaugh!" he cried out as his knees buckled. Sam stopped pouring. "No, don't stop. It's a hurts-so-good kind of thing!" When Sam hesitated, Dean grabbed the bottle and began to pour the water into his eye and over his cheek.

It was really bad before, but when the water hit his face it was a whole new kind of really bad, the really good kind of really bad. He knew the holy water was helping. He could feel the sizzle and hear the hiss, just like when you hit a demon with it. But the evil residue the monster had left on his face and in his eye didn't go gentle. He felt like layers of tissue were being taken with it.

The bottle grew lighter in his hand until it was empty. He leaned against the side of the Impala and breathed. Maybe it had been enough. He tried to blink. His eye felt a little scratchy still, but it seemed better, less swollen. He opened it a little and was relieved that he could see the sun finally showing overhead. His skin burned still but the crawling sensation all over his face was gone.

"There. Better. A little Visine and I'll be good as new," he declared. Sam, Park, and Greenough just stared at him.

"I never saw anybody's face smoke like that," Greenough said at last. "I don't ever want to again."

"You okay?" Sam asked. "That looked . . . painful."

"I'm good." Dean pulled himself up to stand. "I just want a couple of Tylenol and a nap."

"Hey, that kid," Park suddenly realized. "We need to be sure the hospital has got holy water for that kid. He got bit by the thing."

"Where are we going to get holy water?" Greenough asked. "It's six o'clock in the morning."

Dean waved them on their way. "You'll figure it out."

The partners drove away, still arguing about where to find holy water, as Sam helped Dean into the car.

Dean leaned against the wall outside the door as Sam unlocked the apartment. All he wanted to do was get inside, take a shower to wash off the cave dirt and the rest of the Chewy stink, and go back to bed with a bag of frozen peas on his face.

To his delight followed quickly by embarrassment, Elizabeth's door opened and she stepped out into the hall. She smiled at him as she walked toward them, all dressed for work. She wore a charcoal suit and carried a briefcase. Her hair was up in an elegant twist and she wore a small but unusual pendant on a silver chain.

"Wow." He breathed as reached out to adjust her necklace. "You look seriously great."

She glanced down at herself and laughed. "I feel like an undertaker." Then she looked him over and frowned. "You look like you've been taken under. What happened?"

"You ought to see the other guy," he joked, suddenly very self-conscious. "We went looking for a missing boy with the SBI guys last night. I got pegged in the face by a tree."

She put down her briefcase and reached up to his face, carefully turning it into the light. "A tree did this? It looks like a burn. Have you got any aloe?"

He shook his head. She walked back toward her apartment and he followed curiously. She opened her refrigerator and took out a bottle of "After Sun Care with Organic Aloe Vera Gel" and passed it into his hand. "Try this. It might help take the sting out of it."

He smiled at her, or smiled as much as his burned cheek would let him. "Thanks. I owe you." She closed the fridge and picked up her briefcase again.

"What are you doing for dinner tonight?" he asked as he walked her back down the hallway.

"I've got court this morning. It all depends on how it goes," she replied.

"You won't feel like cooking regardless. Come over and eat with me. With me and Sam. With us. And with Abigail. I bet she'd come." He tried not to sound stupid, but something about her made him anxious. "I owe you."

"What you owe me is the truth," she stated. "I don't know what you guys are or what you're doing in Hunter or how it involves cornbread at two in the morning, and maybe I don't want to know."

"But you will have dinner with us. About six? Too early? Too late?" he asked.

She hesitated. "Okay, but better make it seven. I'll bring dessert."

"Seven's perfect." She turned, but he stopped her. "Hey, Lizzy, kick ass in there today."

She smiled at him. "I'll do my best."

Scooter watched as Dean came in the door from his customary perch on the back of the couch. He ran over and gave a good sniff then barked at him as if he didn't smell right. Scooter ran into the bathroom and placed his paws on the side of the bathtub, looked back at him and barked.

"Okay, Scoots, I get the message. I smell like monster." The water stung his face but it was the good kind of sting so he stood there under the shower until he finally felt clean. Moments later, with the towel wrapped around his waist, he leaned into the mirror and examined the burn on his cheek. It was raw and red, and his eye was already turning black and blue. No wonder Elizabeth was suspicious. Carefully he dotted the cold aloe vera over his face and eyelid, grateful for the cooling sensation it provided.

He dressed and headed to the kitchen. "You want something to eat, Scooter?" he asked. Scooter stood beside him and waited as Dean opened a can and poured food into his bowl.

"What are you feeding him?" Sam tossed his empty cereal bowl into the sink and picked up the empty container. "Organic chicken, wild venison, sweet potatoes?" he read. "Dean, this dog is eating better than we are."

"Yeah, but he's such a little guy it's not that much more to feed him the good stuff. Besides, you're worth it, aren't you Scooter-man?" Dean rubbed Scooter behind the ears. Scooter wiggled contentedly into his fingers, then rolled over onto his back for a belly rub to go with it.

After everyone had fed themselves, the two young men went back to bed. First Scooter lay down next to Dean, curling up against his side. After a while, he decided to visit Sam and crossed the living room into the other bedroom.

Sam was groaning and rolling around so much that Scooter wasn't really sure if it was safe to hop on the bed with him. But Sam seemed so upset. The little dog made the leap on to the bed and curled up next to Sam's belly and within a few seconds his young man had quietened down.

Scooter felt Sam rubbing on his back and looked up at him. Sam blinked at him and smiled sadly. "Thanks, Scoot." Then Sam curled up next to him and went back to sleep, one hand resting on his fur.

Sometime mid-morning, Dean rolled over when his phone rang. It was Park.

He spoke to the agent for a few minutes, then got up to get something to eat. He looked through the cabinets and finally settled on another bowl of cereal.

Sam surfaced a few minutes later. "Do we have anything to eat but cereal?"

"Dog food."

"Don't think I'm not tempted. We've got to do better than this." Sam sighed and pulled out a box of Honey Bunches of Oats.

"We'll do better at dinner. I invited Lizzy and Abigail over to eat with us." Dean poured another bowl of Lucky Charms. "Oh, and Park called. He said they released the kid. He had a few puncture woods but nothing too deep. And no burns or signs of poisoning."

"Lucky kid." Sam leaned across the table to study Dean's eye. "Or its tail had a stinger of some kind that got you."

"Probably."

"It looks better now, though. And I was thinking," Sam poured his milk and took a bite, "the Choctaw worshipped the sun. I think it was the sunshine that took out the sitichula, not the banishment."

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. Whatever worked. Just don't tell the guys that. They were really proud of themselves."

"Did Greenough really call Park John Ross back there?" Sam asked.

"Is Greenough's name really Dennis?"

The two laughed. "Park said that they had to go back to base. But if we turn up anything else weird in Hunter to give them a call." Dean loaded his bowl in the dishwasher. "I still can't get over having a dishwasher."

"Comforts of home." Sam stretched and tossed his bowl in the sink.

"Hey!" Dean cried as he pointed toward the dishwasher. "It's open and everything."

"And you're in front of it." Dean stepped aside, and Sam made a big show of putting his bowl in the rack.

"Before I forget, we're having dinner with the girls here tonight," Dean stated casually, or at least as casually as he could considering how excited he was.

"Are you sure about this?" Sam closed the dishwasher and stared at him. "What are we going to eat? Cereal? Dog food?"

"She's bringing dessert. Maybe more pie." Dean tried to make Sam see reason. "It doesn't matter what we cook."

"Let's keep it simple. We'll drop by the Hot Pig and get some barbecue," Sam suggested. "I like Abigail and do not want to scare her away with our idea of home cooking."

Dean had to agree.

That afternoon at around four, Dean looked up from _Jeopardy_ to see Elizabeth's car pulling into its parking place. "Sam, I'm going to check the mail," he called and ran to the boxes at the front of the building, just in time to meet her there.

Dean opened the box, but it was empty as usual. After all, who would send them mail? Who even knew they were in Hunter? "Hey, how was court?" he asked.

"Awful." She opened her box and pulled out a stack of mail, sorted through it and trashed all but two pieces in the big garbage can. "I won."

"Winning is good."

"Only sometimes." He held the door open for her as they entered the building and walked her down the hall to her place, but she didn't seem inclined to talk.

"Well, I'll see you at seven?" he asked.

"Yeah. If you still want to eat earlier, that's fine with me too. I'm done for the day. It's been a rough one." She threw the mail on the counter and tossed her briefcase to the floor. Then she reached up and began fumbling with the clasp of her necklace. "This thing has bothered me all day long."

"Let me try," Dean offered and she turned her back to him. The instant his fingers touched the metal, he knew why her day had been so bad. "How long have you had this?" he asked.

"A couple of days. I bought it at Patterson's. They've got a little gift shop in the back of the B&B. Sometimes they get some nice estate pieces. I thought this was pretty." The instant the necklace left her skin, she sighed deeply. "That was the first and last time I'll ever wear it though."

"Why don't you put on something comfortable and we'll go for a walk. Make you feel better," he suggested. He held up the necklace. "Can I borrow this for a little while?"

"You can have it." Elizabeth rubbed at her neck where the chain had been. Then she smiled at him for the first time since she'd come home. He smiled back in relief. On the counter sat an antique letter rack complete with envelopes.

"Do you mind?" he asked as he took an envelope.

She shook her head. He dropped the necklace inside. The instant it left his fingers, he could feel the air clear just a bit, as if an angry haze around him had lifted.

"This necklace was part of an estate sale, right?" he asked. "Did they have any more pieces from the same owner?"

"Abigail looked at a pair of earrings that matched."

"Did she buy them?" He couldn't help the urgency in his voice.

"No. She decided not to."

"Good."

"Why?" Elizabeth pierced him with an intense look. "What's wrong with that necklace?"

He gave her his most disarming grin. "Wrong with it?"

"If there's nothing wrong with it, let me put it on again," she declared and held out her hand.

"Bad idea. Cheap metal. Turn your skin green."

"Dean Winchester, you owe me the truth." He took one look in those big brown eyes, so sultry but so determined.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, hoping she'd say no. The last thing he wanted was to drag her into the freak show that was his life.

Then he looked down at the envelope in his hand. She'd sworn to him that her town wasn't haunted. They'd laughed at the idea of anything creepy going on in Hunter. But in just over two weeks, he'd seen a hardware store torn up by a wooden box of mysterious origin, a full-scale haunting of an abandoned hospital, a mythical Native American beast on the prowl, and now Elizabeth had just narrowly escaped a cursed necklace.

The freakshow had come to Hunter and by God he was going to protect her. He'd take on every evil thing in the entire town if he had to until he knew she was safe.

"If you're sure," he said, reaching out to her, "then come with me."

She nodded and took his hand.

They walked into the Bed and Breakfast a few minutes later. "Hey, Shawna," Elizabeth greeted the woman in the gift shop. "Do you have any more pieces that go with that necklace I bought?"

"I do indeed," Shawna replied. "There were five pieces in that lot and I've still got the other four."

"Good," Dean answered. "We'll take them."

"I like a man who knows his own mind," Shawna responded brightly as she walked behind the counter, winking at Elizabeth. She pulled out a tray and began to reach for a piece.

"That's okay, just point to the ones that go with the necklace." Dean reached over and plucked a tissue out of a box on the counter. "Don't want to get them dirty. Have you got something to put them in?"

"I do." The woman boxed up the pieces and wrote up a receipt. "That'll be $258."

Dean blanched. That was almost half of their total net worth at the moment.

"Come on, Shawna." Elizabeth chided her. "He's taking the whole lot. They're for his mom. Cut him some slack."

Shawna glanced back and forth between the two of them. "Well," she drew out the word thoughtfully, "since they're for your mother I can give you twenty percent off. Let's make it $206."

"Two hundred even." Elizabeth ended her negotiation firmly.

"Okay, girl. You've got too much of your Grandmaw Coleman in you. Two hundred."

Dean pulled out his wallet and counted over the two hundred, wondering how in the world he'd explain that one to Sam. There wasn't even a pool hall anywhere nearby to hustle any back.

"Do you have anything sweet left from lunch?" Elizabeth asked. "We're having dinner together and I promised to bring dessert."

"I think I've got some cake," Shawna replied.

"Do you have any pie?" Dean interjected. "I love pie."

Shawna winked at him. "I'll be right back."

Once she'd left the room, Elizabeth fished out her wallet and passed him two crisp $100 bills.

"No. I got this," he declared firmly.

"I don't know why I hate that jewelry so much, but I hate it. I want it gone forever. I'm buying it from you so I can throw it in the river." Elizabeth held out the money again.

"Throwing it in the river will only make the fish mean," he declared. "We've got to destroy it utterly. But before we do, we need to know who it belonged to."

"Not a problem," Elizabeth stated, shoving the money into his hand and taking the box from him.

"Shawna," Elizabeth called as she led Dean back through the huge house toward the kitchen. "Can I ask you one question about this jewelry?"

A cry of terror ahead of them prompted them to run. They entered what had once been a large sitting room complete with ornate fireplace that now served as a dining room for the bed and breakfast's café.

Elizabeth gasped in horror. Shawna lay on the floor by the fireplace next to a pool of blood. Before she could take a step toward the woman, Dean grabbed her arm. The air in the room had gone dark and stagnant. The body of a man slumped against the fireplace surround, blood flowing freely from what appeared to be stab wounds in his neck and body.

"Damn you, Lucinda," the man cursed, bloody foam bubbling from the wound in his neck. He stared past Dean so fiercely that he turned to see for himself.

A woman in a floor-length green dress stood behind him. Her hair hung down her back in long red waves and she held a large knife in her hand. "You had it coming, Yancy." She spat the words angrily.

"It's an echo," Dean quietly explained to Elizabeth. "Like a rewinding a movie."

To his surprise, the woman turned to face them, her eyes blazing. He backed away from her, wondering what part of the past event she was reliving, but she took a step towards him. All the time, her eyes never left his.

"You," the woman hissed as she moved closer, the knife gleaming in her fist.

Dean pulled Elizabeth behind him away from the apparition. But the thing was unbelievably fast. It circled behind and slashed at them. To his surprise the spectral knife passed right through Elizabeth but bit into his side painfully.

Lucinda's ghost laughed. "Oh, yes." Her eyes practically glowed with a crazy hunger. "I can see you."

He shuddered as a wave of pain rolled through him. "Elizabeth, run," he tried to call, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "Get Sam." He wanted to look away from that pale face, those frightening eyes, but she held him in her gaze.

She turned her head from side to side, leering at him. He tried to dodge past her, but wherever he turned, her smiling presence confronted him as she easily countered his movements. Without warning, she was in his face, her lips nearly touching his, as a paralyzing cold rolled off her.

She ran an icy finger down his cheek, and the touch of the grave chilled him right to the core. Even the blood that ran down his side grew cold. "I can touch you," she sighed.

Then she leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, a whisper full of dark, joyful promise. "I can kill you."


	4. Chapter 4

(Author's Note:To anybody who is actually reading out there, my most heartfelt apologies. I mistakenly posted an earlier version of this chapter. That's the reason much of it made no freaking sense. Please read this one instead.)

Chapter Four

"I will kill you," Lucinda's spirit sighed and shook back her red hair sensuously. The knife in her hand played down his neck and onto his chest, leaving a deep bleeding scratch behind the sharp point.

Suddenly she jerked and cried out. Her hold on him momentarily broken, Dean shoved her away from him with all his might. "Looks like I can touch you back," he snarled and reached for the mini salt shaker on one of the small bistro tables around the room. He unscrewed the cap and dumped the contents into his hand, dismayed by how little there was. He cast it at her anyway and she leaped at him with a feral snarl.

Somehow he managed to jump back as she yowled in pain again. Elizabeth stood at the kitchen stove in the back of the house, waving some kind of torch over a black skillet.

He ran toward her. She tossed a paper sack at him. Cornmeal? "Salt! I need salt!" he yelled, grabbing for another of the tiny shakers.

"Be consistent!" she yelled back and tossed him a round carton of sea salt.

He pulled off the metal spout and poured himself a large handful. The instant Lucinda made her next appearance, he pelted her with it. She screamed and vanished.

"Is she gone?" Elizabeth asked anxiously as she continued to wave the torch over the skillet.

"She'll be back unless we can banish her for good,"he explained, dumping out another handful of salt in preparation. He moved close enough to see that she had the jewelry poured out in the big black skillet with the flame underneath it on high. She had a tiny butane torch in her hand, scorching the metal pieces from the top as well.

"Keep cooking," he instructed, pressing his hand against his bleeding side. "She's bound to be tied to one of these pieces."

Elizabeth looked over at him, her face pale but determined. Her eyes widened in fear. "Dean, look out!"

He dropped to his knee and rolled to one side, just in time to miss the spectral knife as it descended. He threw the salt at Lucinda as he fell, but didn't hit her as squarely as he needed. She vanished briefly but regrouped in seconds right behind him.

Her arms wrapped around him like icy bands and the knife blade pressed against the side of his neck. "You can't cheat on me and get away with it," she hissed.

He tried to struggle free but that cold touch burrowed into his skin and into his muscles, causing them to clench and cramp painfully so that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. A hard shower of tiny rocks pelted him, stinging his face. Lucinda howled in his ear, and as she dematerialized again, he staggered back toward the kitchen. Elizabeth tossed him the box of ice cream salt she'd used on Lucinda. All the while, she never stopped moving that torch.

The heat had turned most of the pieces into molten goop, but that last pendant stubbornly held its shape. _POP_. The little piece sprang open, revealing itself to be a locket with several strands of red hair curled inside.

"Gotcha, bitch." But Dean spoke too soon as the torch went out with a hiss, empty at last. "Shit. We've got to burn that hair. That's what's holding her here."

He readied another handful of salt but before he could cast it, Lucinda's spirit blasted into him, sending him sprawling across the floor. She leaped onto his chest and he grabbed her arm, desperately trying to keep the point of the blade from piercing his eye. The cold soaked into him, the essence of death drained at him, as the point of the blade grew ever larger in his vision.

 _Foom!_ A blast of heat rolled out of the kitchen and he heard Elizabeth yelp. Lucinda, however, screamed in agony. She dug her icy fingers into his shoulder as an unseen force dragged back at her. She clawed and scratched and slashed at him, leaving long cuts over his forearms and face.

"No!" she howled in desperation but with a rush of wind and a thunderclap like the closing of a vacuum, she disappeared.

Normalcy fell upon the room as if it had never left. The blood vanished. Shawna sat up, rubbing at her face, the refrigerator hummed, and all was right with the bed and breakfast once more.

Dean lay on the floor, trying to catch his breath. He remembered the noise and the wave of heat. "Lizzy!" he called. "Are you okay?"

She knelt beside him. "I'm fine. Just a little cooked." Her face and hands were pink.

"What did you do?" he asked as she pressed napkins over his arms.

"When the blowtorch ran out, I improvised," she stated. "A can of olive oil spray makes a pretty effective flamethrower. Shawna, are you okay?"

The woman nodded and pushed herself up from the floor. She groaned as she took in the skillet full of melted jewelry and the blackened cabinets around the stove. "All those pretty things ruined," she sighed.

Elizabeth nodded. "For a homicidal bitch, she sure had nice taste in jewelry."

Dean laughed but the movement made the wound in his side redouble its bleeding. He winced at the stab of pain.

"Shawna, we're going to need you to drive us to the clinic," Elizabeth began, but Dean stopped her. He pulled out his phone and called Sam.

"Come to the quiche place," he instructed. "And bring the kit."

"At least lie down somewhere and let me see how bad this cut is," Elizabeth stated.

Shawna led them to a sitting room with an old fashioned settee but before she'd let him sit down on it, she spread some tablecloths over it. "This is an antique," she explained as Elizabeth frowned at her.

Dean eased himself onto the tablecloths and tried not to moan too much. Elizabeth knelt beside him and carefully pulled away the towel. There was a good bit of blood, but he'd had worse and said so. "Sam will be here in a few minutes and he'll stitch it up for me."

Elizabeth just looked at him sadly. Then she took another couple of towels from the stack Shawna brought and began to press them against the worse of the cuts on his chest and forearms. "You look like you fought a bandsaw and lost," she declared, and to his dismay, her bottom lip began to tremble.

"Yeah, but you fought a ghost and won," he cupped her cheek with his least bloody hand. "You were incredible."

"I was terrified," she blinked and breathed, fighting back tears. "I thought the ghost of Lucinda Whaley was going to kill you. A ghost, Dean. What the hell is going on here?"

"How do you know her name?" Dean asked, avoiding the tough question.

She pointed to a portrait on the wall. "This was her house back in Titus. I've seen that portrait a thousand times. I used to think she was pretty."

Dean studied the portrait of a Victorian lady with the long red hair and porcelain skin. Having nearly been stabbed to death by her, he didn't think much of her. "Hey, look," he pointed, "she's wearing that necklace."

Elizabeth stared for a long moment, then broke down fully into tears. He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. "Shhhh," he whispered. "You did it. You beat her. She's gone and she's never coming back."

Within moments, Elizabeth had pulled herself back together and was wiping at her face when Sam entered.

"What the hell happened to you?" his brother asked.

While Sam tended to the worst of his injuries, Elizabeth and Shawna made themselves scarce. Shawna offered him and Sam a cup of tea, which Sam accepted. Once the tale had been told, Dean was more than ready to get home and lie on his own couch. He pulled himself up, swaying a little. Sam and Elizabeth were both at his side in a heartbeat.

"Shawna, you owe me a pie," he declared.

That evening, they all sat around the brothers' little dining table, complete with mismatched chairs, and ate barbecue and cole slaw from the Hot Pig.

After dinner, Sam and Abigail curled up together on the couch to watch some foreign movie. Dean wanted to be alone with Elizabeth, but didn't feel right asking her into his bedroom.

"You want to take a walk or something?" Dean asked. "We could take Scooter."

"Are you sure you feel up to it?" she asked.

"If I don't keep moving, I'll stiffen up," he replied as he found the little dog's leash.

As Scooter led them to every tree within three blocks of the apartment, he found out everything he could about Elizabeth Coleman. She was a local girl, her parents still lived in the house she grew up in just across town. She'd been invited to come back to practice law by the local judge who'd encouraged her legal aspirations when she was in high school.

"He told me things were too quiet in town. He said we needed another lawyer to shake things up," she laughed. After the insane day they'd had, the sound of her laugh made him feel warm and comforted. All the evil of the day was suddenly erased because she was happy. Dean was suddenly gripped by a deep desire to make her happy every day.

He took her hand as they crossed the intersection and just kept holding it on the other side. The town was so peaceful. Scooter led them around the park, then gave the air a sniff and headed back toward home. They stopped on the corner across from the apartment and looked up at the stars.

"I don't do this enough," she sighed as she gazed overhead.

He thought about the many nights he and Sam had slept in the car, the innumerable beers they'd drank while lying on the hood of the Impala, looking up at the stars. It was freedom and he loved it.

Freedom also meant that he'd been with plenty of girls over the years. But no matter how hot the sex, he'd always felt the itch to hit the road after just a few days in one place. Because of that, relationships tended to move fast for him. He was in, out, and over it usually within a matter of days.

But he'd known Elizabeth for over a week. That was over two months in Dean years, he decided. For once he didn't want to rush it. She'd shown him today just how extraordinary she was. He wanted to take his time and enjoy getting to know her. He wanted to kiss her, to be with her, but he wanted to court her too. Elizabeth was different. She wasn't just some girl on the way to something else.

The stars hung overhead; the temptation of the open road lay before him.

But in that moment, his heart longed for something else. Home. He'd been without a home since he was just a kid. Being there on the quiet street with Elizabeth felt like coming home. He sighed.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"No, I'm good. Really good."

He wasn't planning to kiss her. He hadn't come up with any lines or smooth talk. But all the same he found himself holding her, his lips against hers. Her mouth was soft, and her hair flowed around his fingers. Her body curved against his, like two parts of a whole. He felt like himself for the first time in his life.

He clung to her then, kissing her deeply, wanting to lose himself in her, to find himself in her. He barely knew her, but she made his heart pound and his breath catch in his chest.

Finally he forced himself to stop before he started something on the streetcorner that he couldn't finish. She leaned against him and he became aware that she was trembling.

He wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sorry he did it. Not at all.

Sam opened his eyes when he heard the door. Abby had fallen asleep against his chest and he too had nearly drifted off. He looked up to see Dean in the doorway. Scooter followed him into the room and stood patiently until Dean finally unhooked the leash.

"Where's Elizabeth?"

Dean looked up at him, an almost startled look in his eyes. "I walked her back home."

"Is it that late?"

"It's just after ten."

"That's not late, Dean."

Dean walked through the living room and to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the orange juice. Then he proceeded to chug it straight from the carton.

Sam eased out from under Abigail, trying not to wake her. It didn't work. She roused up, pushing back her hair. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Just after ten."

"I can't believe I fell asleep on you," she moaned. "I'm so sorry."

Sam gave her a soft kiss. "You fall asleep on me any time you want to."

"Et tu, Sammy?" Dean mumbled from behind his orange juice.

"I better head home." Abby pushed herself up from the couch.

"No. You don't have to leave. Don't leave." Sam hated the pitiful note of pleading in his voice but he couldn't help it. He'd been really comfortable.

"Good night, Sam," Abby said with a smile.

"Let me walk you home."

"It's one flight up and two doors down."

Sam took her by the hand. "I'm walking you home." He looked back at his brother. Dean leaned back against the kitchen sink, still holding his OJ, a look of deep trepidation on his face. "Stay put. I'll be right back. Scooter, watch him."

Scooter walked into the kitchen and curled up on the floor at Dean's feet.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam walked back into the apartment. "These Southern girls are tough," he complained. "I couldn't get her to let me in or anything."

Dean still stood at the sink. He still held the carton of orange juice. He still had a distinctly deer in the headlights look on his face.

"What's the matter? Are your stitches pulling loose?" Sam asked him, going to the fridge himself, but pulling out a beer.

Dean shook himself and his eyes actually focused on Sam for the first time since he'd come home. "No. No, I'm good."

Sam unscrewed the cap from his bottle. "So what's eating you? You look like you've seen - well, I would say a ghost but that was hours ago."

"Sam, I think I'm in love. Like real, life-changing, honest-to-God, true love."

"For real?" Sam couldn't help but laugh. For a man in love, Dean looked more like he'd been punched in the gut.

"Is love supposed to feel like this?" Dean sounded hurt. His eyes were even bloodshot.

"Feel like what?" Sam had seen his brother face down monsters with a grin on his face and a what-the-hell attitude, but now he was getting worried.

"Like everything you know is getting remade. I feel like everything I am has just been re-worked. Oh, God, Sam. I think I love her." Dean groaned and actually leaned on the counter with his head in his hands.

Sam leaned against the cabinet beside him, taking a sip of his beer to hide the grin on his face. "What's so bad about that?"

"I never loved anybody before. I don't know what to do."

"You just do it. You just love them."

Dean looked up at him, his brow wrinkling anxiously. "But this changes everything. This girl isn't someone you just love and go on. This girl is the until-death-do-you part kind. What am I going to do? I can't love her and keep hunting. I can't keep hunting and not love her." Dean reached out and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it hard in emphasis as he repeated, "This. Changes. Everything."

Sam stared hard at his older brother. He'd never seen him like this. He'd never actually watched a personality re-integration take place. A deep joy began to bubble up inside him and a huge grin split his face. The untouchable Dean Winchester had fallen head over heels in love. This was going to be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

(Author's Note: If you've actually been reading along, please make sure you have read the correct chapter 4-it has an author's note at the top declaring that it is the right chapter. I totally screwed up and posted an earlier version that made no sense at all.)

Chapter Five

The next morning Dean walked out of the apartment with a bounce in his step and a new lease on life. He loved her. He'd spent the whole night working through that fact. He loved Elizabeth in a true love, fairy tale kind of way. It freaked him out at first, but somewhere between 10:00 p.m. and the crack of dawn he worked through it and figured it out. He loved her.

And from the way she kissed him the night before, he had a pretty good idea about her feelings as well. Plus, she'd handled the whole attacked-by-a-ghost thing really well. Once they left the bed and breakfast with Sam, she hadn't mentioned it again. She'd just hung out with him at his place while Sam and Abby picked up the barbecue, then ate dinner and made chit-chat. At first he thought it was because she was hiding it from Abigail, but when she didn't bring it up in private, he decided it was because she was totally cool with it.

Elizabeth was born to hunt, and the thought thrilled him to the core.

He knocked at her door just as she opened it. Her bag was on her shoulder and she was dressed for work. "Good morning!"

She jumped at his voice and he expected her to smile, but she didn't. She didn't look happy to see him. She looked something else. Something he couldn't name.

"I, uh, I wanted to see what you had up for dinner tonight," he began as she locked her door.

"With everybody?" she asked.

"No, just us. Me and you, I mean." His heart pounded and he wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans.

She shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"What? Dinner? You still eat, don't you?"

She laughed a little then looked away from him. "I don't think I need to go out just us."

"I don't get it. I thought we were doing good. You know, getting along."

"Don't get me wrong, Dean. I like you. I like you a lot. Too much for my own good."

Dean shook his head. "What? How can you like somebody too much?"

Elizabeth put down her bag and looked at him, her big brown eyes piercing him. "Do you really want to do this in the hallway?"

"Hell, yeah. I'm lost here, Lizzy. I thought we could go somewhere with this. I mean, you know everything and you're cool with it." He tried to keep his voice down.

She put her face in her hands and rubbed at her cheeks as if she were trying to wake up. "No. I don't know everything. That's the problem. I know just enough to scare me half to death."

He reached up and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. "But you were so cool about it last night. And you kicked that ghost's ass like it was nothing. You were born to hunt, Lizzy."

She pushed his hand away but didn't let go of it. "No. I was not born for this. This is insane, Dean. When Billy came in the courthouse yesterday talking about Chickasaw monsters, we all thought it was really funny. But just when I decided Billy had started smoking crack and seeing things, I had a Ghost Facers adventure of my own at Shawna's place."

"You're not insane," Dean tried to assure her. "You just got tossed in the deep end. You did great."

"I don't feel great. I feel terrified." She shivered all over.

"Lucinda's gone for good, but if you feel nervous we can salt the windows and doors of your place."

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with tears. "It's not me I'm terrified for." She reached out and placed her hands on his cheeks, lightly running her thumbs over one of the deep scratches left by Lucinda's knife on one side and the still fading burns from the sitichula on the other. "Dean, sweetie, I'm scared to death for you."

"Me?" Dean stammered. "Baby, I'm tough as shoe leather. I've been hunting demons all my life. I've been to hell and back with my dad and with Sam. I've had lots worse than this."

Elizabeth did not look reassured. Instead she looked even more concerned.

"I have an idea. Let's take things slow." Dean took her hands in his. "I just want to spend some time with you."

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked back at him again. "I'm not a take-things-slow kind of girl. I'm an all-in kind of girl. What I want to do is forget everything that has happened, go out with you, have a good time, bring you back to my place, throw down like wild rabbits, and damn the consequences."

"Sounds like a plan."

She laughed and hope rose inside him. Then she frowned and turned all serious. "But the problem is, I know too much already." She took a deep breath. "I thought about this nearly all night last night." She blinked, but she didn't cry.

"Dean, if I get a little of you, I'm only going to want more. More than you can give. And when you leave-and you will-it will tear my heart in half because part of it will go with you." She blinked again and this time a tear did slip down her cheek. "I can't go to dinner with you. I already care too much about you."

"I'd say we can still be friends," she continued, "but you know how that is." She picked up her bag. "I will always want the best for you. Always."

He watched her walk down the hall, dumbstruck. He couldn't think of anything to say that would bring her back. But he knew that a little bit of him went with her.

Sam had just taken a bite of Honey Oat Crunch when Dean slowly walked through the front door.

"What's the matter with you?" Sam asked. "You look. . . devastated."

Dean shot him a sour look, then sighed. "I tried to ask Elizabeth out to dinner. You know, like a date. And she turned me down."

"She did?" Sam was genuinely surprised. Girls never turned Dean down. "I thought she liked you. A lot."

"She does." Dean threw himself on the couch and pulled a pillow over his face. "That's why she can't go out with me."

"I do not get it."

Dean pulled back the pillow and looked over at him, his face drawn and tired. "I think I do, Sammy. That's the worst part. She's right. I'm not the man she deserves." Scooter hopped into Dean's lap, lay down with his head on Dean's arm, and gave a deep sigh. "Thanks, Scoots." Dean ruffled the little dog's white coat with his fingertips.

"Come on, Dean. You're a great guy. Girls flock to you like groupies. So this one chick doesn't get you. Big deal." Sam rose from the little kitchen table and tossed his bowl in the sink.

"Dishwasher!" Dean snapped and pointed then continued, "It is a big deal. Elizabeth isn't just some chick. She's not just another girl on the road." He opened his mouth like he was going to say something more, but instead he shook his head and stared out the window.

Sam put his bowl in the dishwasher and even loaded it with washing powder and started it. He puttered around the kitchen, wiping down the countertops and cleaning up the spill on the stove from two nights before. Then he swept and gathered up a load of laundry.

"It is really nice here," he stated as he started the washer. "We've got our own washer and dryer. Our own rooms for once. I can see why you like it. Peaceful, quiet. Well, quiet for the most part. It's a nice place to be."

"Quit trying to psychoanalyze me." Dean growled. "And bring me a drink. I can't get up. Scooter's on my lap."

Sam took a soda from the refrigerator and passed it to his brother. "All I'm saying is that it's nice to take a break from the road. I agree. But we've got to remember who we are and what we do. We're hunters."

Dean pointed at his face where the burns and cuts still stood out in sharp, red relief against his skin. "No shit, Sherlock. All we've done since we got here is hunt monsters and investigate crazy crap. This town is a hotbed of supernatural activity. And until things settle down and I know everybody's safe, I'm going to stay here and hunt."

Sam nodded. "That's all I'm saying. It's okay to stay for a while. But when we're done here, we're done. We move on."

Dean stared out the window again.

"Right, Dean? When we're done here, we move on," Sam repeated.

"Yeah. We move on."

"Why are we still here?" Sam asked three days later as Dean walked in the door carrying a large, paper-wrapped frame. "That damned box in the hardware store has gone dormant as long as it's the only thing on the shelf, the hospital's dark again, the sitichula hasn't come back, and the bed and breakfast is totally quiet." He sank onto the couch and threw a pillow at Dean's head. "Time to hit the road again."

Dean grabbed the pillow out of the air and tossed it onto the couch. Scooter immediately jumped on it and stretched out for a nap. "If we leave, what will we do with the dog? He can't go hunting."

Sam laughed. "Nope. He'd bark once then bring the demon a toy to throw for him."

"Are you kidding?" Dean ruffled the little dog's ears. "This dog is vicious. He'd bite the demon's head off."

Scooter yawned and licked his hand with his tiny pink tongue. _We should have named you Marshmallow,_ Dean thought to himself with a smile. He kissed the top of Scooter's head, then headed to the kitchen to grab a hammer and nail out of the junk drawer. "It's still too soon to go. Anything could happen. It's just not safe to leave yet," Dean declared as he hung a picture on the wall. "Does this look okay with the couch?"

Sam took in the large landscape complete with mountain lake and evergreen trees. "Bob Ross?" he asked incredulously.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Found it at the thrift store. Painted by a local lady according to Miss Becky."

"A local dead lady? This isn't a cursed acrylic, is it?" Sam frowned and studied the painting as if searching for signs of skeletons in the lake or wendigos hiding in the woods.

"No," Dean waved his hand dismissively. "She's the backup organist at the Presbyterian church. She just likes to paint."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "It's pretty good."

"Happy little trees," Dean agreed with a smile. "I picked up a new lamp too."

Sam watched as his brother set up the lamp and adjusted the throw on the sofa.

"We having company?" Sam asked him at last.

"What? No." Dean paused. "Well, maybe. I hope."

"Who have you invited to dinner?"

"Nobody. Not yet. I haven't had a chance. But I'm going to."

Sam studied his older brother as he paced around the apartment. It had been three days since Elizabeth had shut him down, but after an initial period of despondency, Dean had suddenly perked up. Maybe there was a new woman on the chain.

"So, who is she? Do I know her?" Sam asked.

Dean wiped down the kitchen counters for the third time that day. "Yeah. Elizabeth. Who else?"

"Dude, Elizabeth's not interested. Abby told me so."

"I know. But she will be. I'm going to show her that I'm not some fly-by-night joker that's here one minute and gone the next," Dean replied firmly.

Sam just stared at him. "But you are, Dean. That is exactly what you are." Before Dean could take a swing at him, he added, "It's what we both are. Abby knows that and she's cool with it. We'll have some fun and make some nice memories, but we both know the truth. Neither of us are going to settle down."

Dean opened his mouth as if to argue, but to Sam's surprise, he just shook his head and opened the fridge. "I'm headed down to the Piggly Wiggly for some groceries. You want anything in particular?"

"Something to make a salad. And not just iceberg lettuce."

Hours later, Dean returned with four bags of groceries and a smile on his face. Sam met him at the door of the building, Abigail at his side.

"I gave up on you," Sam explained. "We're going out for pizza. Want to come?"

Before Dean could answer, he spotted Elizabeth pulling into her parking place. "No. You guys go ahead. I'm fine."

Sam took Abby's hand and shrugged. "We'll bring you back some leftovers then."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Do that."

It had been three days since she'd turned him down in the hallway. He'd tried every way he could think of to casually run into her. He'd tried to enlist Abigail's help. He'd even sent Scooter down the hall and told him to bark at her door. No luck.

He opened the door, trying not to look like a stalker, as she got out of her car. She closed the door, dropped her briefcase on the trunk, and bent down to inspect her rear tire.

"Is that a flat tire I spy?" he asked aloud. "Dean to the rescue!"

He ran to his apartment, dropped his groceries in the hallway by the door, ran back down the hallway and out the front door, skidding a little as he rounded the corner to the parking lot. "Lizzy. Hey." He tried to sound cool, as if he'd just noticed her, but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact that he was completely out of breath.

"Hey," she answered and her face lit up with a smile.

"Got a flat?" He tried not to sound hopeful.

"Yeah." She leaned over and poked at a nail head protruding from the tread. "There it is."

"You want me to fix that for you?" _Oh please oh please let me fix it for you,_ he thought to himself.

She popped open her trunk and pulled out a little plastic box. "My dad taught me well. I've got a tire plug kit and an air pump. Plus I've done it before."

"But you're not dressed to plug a tire. Let me do it." He reached out for the box. "Please. Let me do this for you."

She glanced down at her dress pants and passed him the box. "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

He opened the box, pulled out the pliers, and began working the nail free. "I wanted to talk to you. About the other day," he began. "You've got the wrong idea about me."

"In what way?" she sounded anxious.

"Sam and I aren't journalists, but we are cops-kind of. In a way." The nail popped free of the tire, and he began to work on the plug. "What we do is dangerous. The things we hunt aren't easy to find and they aren't easy to deal with. Most people don't even believe in them." He glanced up at her to see the expression on her face.

She just stood there, listening. "Go ahead. I want to know."

"That's the thing, Liz. I want you to know. And I usually don't. We don't talk to people about this. People don't understand. They run away when they do. But you saw it and you didn't run." He pushed the plug into the tire with a grunt and pulled the tool free again. He set up the little pump and began to air up the tire. Once he was satisfied that the plug was holding, he trimmed off the excess, and packed everything away again into the little box.

He packed the box back into her trunk and closed the lid. "I'm not going to lie to you. I've been around the block a few times, if you know what I mean. But I never wanted to tell anyone the truth. I never wanted anyone to know the truth about me. About what I've done."

He walked with her to the building and opened the door for her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I can't give you what you deserve. But nobody ever made me want to be the kind of man I want to be with you. I just want you to know that."

"That is probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me," she replied as they headed down the hall to her place.

"Good. I was afraid it made no sense at all," he admitted.

"Okay. Dinner. Tonight. You can tell me all about everything. Are you cooking?"

"Yes, ma'am." Panic began to set in. "I'll make you dinner and we'll talk."

"Seven?"

"Better make it six. It's a long story."

She smiled at him and the world began to spin again. "Six." She pressed a quick kiss onto his cheek, opened the door of her apartment, and walked inside.

He gave her a little nod then turned to go back to his place, glancing back at her door as he picked up his groceries from the floor. Scooter looked up curiously from his perch on the back of the couch.

"I have no idea," Dean answered the dog's unspoken question. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and chips? Ramen? A bowl of cereal? Some Spaghetti-O's?"

Dean figured it would be difficult to get Sam out of his hair for the evening, but it turned out that he and Abigail already had plans to watch a movie at her place. "Don't come back early," Dean instructed as he kicked his brother out at 5:30.

"I don't plan to be back before morning," Sam answered with a grin.

Dean closed the door on him with a curse. Sam was getting some. Of course he was. Abby was a nice girl, but Dean could tell that she was just having fun. Neither of them planned to get too deep. He'd played that game a hundred times himself. Love 'em and leave 'em. Be an interesting interlude in any otherwise predicable existence.

For a brief instant he considered what it would be like with Elizabeth. But for some reason, instead of hot sexy stuff, all he could think of was how it would be to wake up next to her every morning. What it would feel like to spend Christmas together. Then he saw her holding a baby. His baby. A wave of dizziness ran through him and he had to sit down for a minute.

What was he doing? Where was this coming from? Suddenly the images came fast and thick and wouldn't stop. He saw himself proposing to her. He watched them get married. He played catch in the back yard with their son. He walked their daughter down the aisle. He sat there and watched them live happily ever after in fast forward.

"This is stupid. This is crazy." He shook himself and went to the bathroom sink to splash cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror and held an intervention. "This isn't you, man. You aren't the marrying kind."

Just then he heard a knock at the door.

He ran his hands through his hair and checked his teeth. Then he dried his face and went to the door. He took a deep breath and opened it.

"Park. Greenough. What the hell are you doing here?"

"We've come to eat dinner," Park declared with a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Park stood at his door, a grin on his face. Greenough towered in the background. "Is Sam here?" The special investigation boys from the state nosed their way into the living room.

"No. He's not and I've already got dinner plans, so you guys better grab a burger somewhere else." Dean kept an eye out down the hall for Elizabeth.

"No can do. We need your help on one. So we're all going out for dinner." Park sat on the couch as Greenough bent down to pick up Scooter.

The big man gave Scooter a gentle rub on the ears. "The sheriff's department called us back here on another situation down at the Back Porch restaurant. Have you been there?"

Dean nodded. "Sammy and I grabbed a plate lunch the other day. Pretty good food. What's going on?"

"I think we'll need to see it for ourselves. The deputy we talked to didn't want to give details." Park added.

"I hate to turn you down but-" Dean began but stopped when Elizabeth peeked through the open door.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked. "I can come back."

"No!" he practically shouted. Then he forced himself to dial it back a notch. "No, Lizzy, the guys were just leaving." She walked through the door and his heart skipped a beat. He'd seen her dressed for work so often lately that he was taken aback by the sight of her in casual clothes. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, all soft and wavy. She wore a silky sleeveless blouse that showed off her toned arms and a pair of jeans that hugged her in all the right places. Her sparkly sandals revealed the cutest toes painted the exact pink of cooked shrimp, and somehow the idea only made him tingle all over.

He tried to push the SBI boys out the door but Park kept talking. "Dean, I mean it. We need you and/or Sam along on this one. You've got wheels on the ground experience with this sort of stuff that we don't usually get."

"Dean, if you need to go," Elizabeth began but Dean stopped her with an upraised hand. There was no way she was getting away from him, not when he finally had a chance to impress her.

"Let me turn off the oven and we'll all go." He declared. He went to the kitchen and peeped through the oven glass. The frozen lasagna was nearly done. It could just sit until they came back. Maybe the cheese wouldn't go all rubbery, he thought as he turned off the heat.

"Elizabeth, these guys are John Ross Park and Dennis Greenough. They're with the State Department of Investigation." To his surprise, Elizabeth smiled and nodded.

"I've heard rumors about you guys," she stated. "Billy Gottwald said you came down a few days ago and helped out with that missing boy."

"We did. But it's Dean here who deserves the credit for taking down the sit-" Greenough punched Park in the arm before he could say more.

"It's okay. Elizabeth took out a ghost for me the other day before it could slice me into cutlets," Dean stated. "She knows all about it."

"Not all about it," Elizabeth interjected. "But enough to keep me from freaking out at this point." She shook the hands of the SBI boys and introduced herself. "I'm Elizabeth Coleman, Dean's neighbor and attorney, should he need one."

Dean's eyebrows rose at her statement. "So I've got you on retainer or something?" he asked, grinning with pride. "I've never had my own lawyer before." He grimaced at a number of memories that flickered past. "And I've sure needed one."

"This way anything you tell me becomes protected by lawyer-client privilege. I have the feeling I'm going to hear lots of stuff that I do not need to repeat," she explained. "Let me get my jacket."

As Elizabeth opened the door of her apartment, Park slugged him on the arm. "Way to go, Winchester. She's a babe."

"Yeah, I know." Dean forced the grin off his face and growled, "So don't screw it up for me. I'm on serious probation with her as it is."

"Not a problem," Greenough assured him.

"And I'm bringing her separate," Dean added. "No way our first date is in the back of a government sedan."

"First date?" Park's eyebrows nearly shot off his face. "We will absolutely sell the heck out of you."

Dean laughed. "Just make sure you don't freak her out, okay?"

He locked the door of the apartment and waited for Elizabeth. To his surprise, when she came back out of the apartment, she'd changed clothes. She still wore her jeans, but she'd changed into a t-shirt and jacket and had slipped on a pair of white Converse low-tops. "My top wasn't fire-resistant," she explained with a grin.

He led her out to the Impala. "Elizabeth, meet Baby. Baby, this is Elizabeth." He opened the door for her to slide into the seat. As he ran around the back of the car, he patted Baby on the trunk and whispered, "Play nice."

He really wanted his girls to get along, so he was more than excited when Elizabeth asked, "What year model is this?"

"She's a '67, but she doesn't look a day over 30."

When Baby growled into life, Elizabeth made his day by asking, "Four barrel?"

"Absolutely. You know something about carburetors?"

"Not much. But I do love a muscle car." She smiled and buckled her seatbelt. "I bet this one will fly."

"She can hold her own. Maybe when we finish up at the restaurant we can take a ride." His skin tingled in anticipation.

"Maybe," she replied with another playful grin.

He tried to drive like a responsible adult for the half-mile to the restaurant, but the sixteen-year-old inside him just wanted to show off with burned rubber and reckless acceleration. Somehow he pulled into a parking place next to Greenough outside the Back Porch Cafe.

As they got out of the car, Elizabeth looked around the parking lot and frowned. "This place ought to be packed at this time on a Friday night."

Sure enough, the lot was nearly empty. There were a few vehicles parked around the far side of the building, and several people stood around them, deep in conversation. From their matching t-shirts, he could only assume they were employees.

The only car parked out front belonged to the sheriff's department. As they walked closer, the door of the car opened and the deputy stepped out. "I'm glad you guys are here," he began, then noticed Elizabeth. "Hey, Beth. What brings you along?"

"I'm Mr. Winchester's attorney," she answered. "Does he need one?"

"Not to my knowledge." Billy rubbed his hands on his khaki pants legs. "But I'm not sure you want any part of this."

"What's going on here?" Park asked as they all stepped up on the wooden porch of the building.

Billy let out a breath. "Guthrie Elbert came to eat dinner tonight."

"Guthrie Elbert?" Dean asked. The name sounded so familiar. Then he remembered. "Oh yeah, Guthrie Elbert Highway. Guthrie Elbert Park. Guthrie Elbert Preschool. That Guthrie Elbert."

"Yep," Billy replied. "He was mayor of this town for over thirty years. Did a lot for the community."

"Sounds like a good guy. What's the problem?"

Elizabeth grabbed Dean's arm before he could turn the knob. "Guthrie Elbert's been dead for five years. That's the problem."

"It's worse than that, Beth." Billy shivered. But when they pressed him, he would only reply that they had to see for themselves.

"Well, hell. Let's go see the mayor then. But not without a plan." Dean opened the trunk of the Impala, then opened the false bottom. Elizabeth gasped at the sight of the many weapons before her.

"Most of those are illegal, you know," she stated at last.

"Yeah, but I've got a kick-ass lawyer," he replied with a wink and loaded shells into the shot pistol. "Rock salt," he assured her. "Just like at the B & B."

Greenough stepped closer as he closed the chamber of his big derringer. "We're locked and loaded, Dean."

Deputy Gottwald edged nearer, but Dean closed the trunk before he could see much. Park, on the other hand, called the man nearer and passed him a paper sack. "This is full of rock salt. Hit the dead guy with it and he'll disperse."

"Yeah, but not unless I say so," Dean instructed. "You asked me to lead on this, guys. We need to just take it slow and easy, right? Lizzy, you stay behind me. In fact, just hang close to the door until we know what we're dealing with."

"Pass me a bag of salt, John Ross." Elizabeth held out her hand. "I've already gone one round with the town's founding prostitute. I can deal with Mr. Guthrie."

Park passed her a bag of salt and they gathered around the door. Dean opened it slowly and eased into the room. The lights flickered with the electromagnetic disturbance of the ghost's presence, but enough light filtered through the windows to make it more an annoyance than a visibility issue. However, if they couldn't resolve the situation within a half-hour or so, the sun would set, leaving them to battle the ghost in darkness.

He turned to the right and began a visual sweep of the room, but Elizabeth tapped him on the shoulder. "He'll be over there," she whispered as she pointed to the far left corner of the dining area. "Mr. Guthrie had a favorite table."

Sure enough he could make out an elderly man sitting in a booth. He walked slowly toward the apparition, his pistol behind his back. The man didn't look up, his head downcast, his arms resting on the tabletop.

"Did he die here or something?" Dean asked her.

"No. He died at home, I think. He was over 90."

"Then it's not a death echo. This is a straight up haunting," Dean surmised. "But why a restaurant?"

"He ate here every Friday night," Billy offered. "Up until just a couple of weeks before he died. He'd come and eat and folks would come talk to him."

"People used to say more work got done here than in the city council meetings," Elizabeth added.

"So what do we do? Ask for a minute of his time?" Park shook his head. "I vote we pop him with salt and go home."

"Bad idea." Dean shook his head. "He'll just come back pissed. We've got to dig up the body, salt it and burn it."

"Absolutely not," Elizabeth snapped. "This is Mr. Guthrie. He was a sweet man and a deacon. Whatever he's doing here, it's not something bad."

Before Dean could stop her, Elizabeth had crossed the room and slipped into the opposite side of the ghost's booth.

"Mr. Guthrie? Do you remember me? It's Elizabeth Coleman. Jim Coleman's granddaughter. We went to church together," she began in a gentle voice.

The ghost looked up, his sad eyes meeting hers. "Little Elizabeth? You've grown up." His voice was cracked and distant.

"Yes, sir, I have. It's been a few years since you were here last. Why have you come back?" Elizabeth sounded so calm, so gentle. He was floored by her composure.

"I've got to make it right. I've got to." The lights flickered even more dramatically. "So many years gone by and I never told a soul. But I should have. I knew the truth about Stash Whitmore. I should have told."

The floor around the booth began to shudder and heave as if an earthquake were rolling beneath their feet. Dean reached out to try to steady himself, revealing his pistol in the process.

"So you've come to arrest me then?" the ghost stared at Dean, his eyes bloodshot and glowing. "Do your damnedest. But I won't go from here without a fight. I'm waiting for Stash's people to come. I am not going anywhere until I've seen them."

A wave of energy rolled off the ghost, blasting through and past Dean and sending him to his knees, his pistol flying free of his grip. Behind him, the three other men staggered backward, their guns also spinning away wildly.

"Nobody's come to arrest you, Mr. Guthrie," Elizabeth assured him. "We're just here to help you." Dean was glad to see that the blast wave hadn't hurt her. Indeed it hadn't appeared to have touched her at all.

"You want to help me? Then bring me Stash's people so I can tell them the truth. They deserve to know the truth." The old man's spirit went quiet once more and the room settled back to near normalcy, with only the flicker of the lights as a sign that anything out of the ordinary was going on.

Elizabeth slipped out of the booth and rejoined the rest of the group. She grabbed Dean's hand and headed for the front door. Once the group had made the safety of the porch, she let out a long breath. Dean put his arms around her. "You did great," he assured her then turned to the rest of the group. "Who the hell is Stash Whitmore?" he asked at large.

"It's the county's oldest cold case," Billy began. "Back in the early 1930s a black guy named Stash Whitmore went missing on his way home from work at the sawmill on County Road 9. There one minute and gone the next."

"Any chance he just ran off?" Greenough asked.

"The one thing everyone in town seemed to know for sure was that somebody killed him. He was in pretty deep with the moonshiners out in old Titus. The revenuers busted the still soon afterward, and rumor had it that he was the snitch that turned them in. Lots of folks got arrested, both black and white." Billy shrugged. "Moonshining was an equal opportunity crime back then."

"So are the Whitmores still around? Can we get Stash's next of kin?" Park asked.

Billy and Elizabeth looked at each other. "I don't know anybody around here named Whitmore," Elizabeth admitted. Billy shook his head as well.

"And we don't have time to start combing the phonebook," Dean added. "Looks like we'll have to make do with what we've got."

"What have we got?" Park asked curiously.

Dean pointed at Greenough. "You just became Stash Whitmore's long lost cousin."

"Wait a minute," Greenough began, but Park patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Dennis. We've got your back. At the first sign that it's going wrong, we'll hit him with the salt," Park assured him.

"This is nuts," Greenough sighed. But in the end, the agent went back into the restaurant, the rest of the group right behind him.

Guthrie Elbert's spirit still sat at the table. The sun had begun to set, plunging the restaurant into near darkness each time the lights flickered. "Is he going to be okay?" Elizabeth asked Dean in a whisper. "Have you ever done something like this before?"

"I've reasoned with death echoes to jar them out of their loop. And I've had some pretty in depth conversations with spirits. But this is the first time I've ever tried to fool one like this. I'm not sure whether or not this ghost is going to believe that Dennis is Stash's long lost cousin," Dean admitted. "Stay close to me, okay? If it goes bad, Park and I are up with the rock salt. I don't want you in the path of another homocidal spook."

They watched as Greenough approached the table. Dean couldn't hear the conversation completely, but from the tone of voice he decided that the ghost was cool with the story. After several minutes, Dean saw Greenough reach out as if he were going to shake the ghost's hand, but the spirit vanished away just as their fingers touched.

Almost immediately the lights came back up to full brightness and that same return to normalcy he'd felt in the bed and breakfast descended in the restaurant. Greenough slipped out of his seat at the booth and made his way across the room, only to sink down into a chair at a nearby table.

Elizabeth took one look at him and went to the beverage station and poured the agent a glass of water. "This will do until we can get you something stronger," she said as she passed Greenough the red plastic cup.

"Thanks," the agent whispered as he took a long drink.

"So?" Park asked after several seconds. "What did he say? What happened to Stash Whitmore?"

"Mr. Guthrie said we'd find the body in a pond in a gravel pit off Pine Hollow Road. It will be wrapped in a length of chain and weighed down by a plow." Greenough put down the glass and wiped his mouth with a shaking hand.

"So Mayor Elbert killed him?" Billy asked in surprise.

"No. He didn't kill him. But he was with the group that did. His Uncle Joseph was one of the owners of the still. When one of Stash's friends let slip that Stash had come into a pretty good wad of cash, Joe Elbert and the other owners decided that he'd sold them out. Even Stash's own kinfolks believed it. Joe sent a group to take care of it. Guthrie was one of them. Stash swore to them that he'd sold a mule to get the money, but nobody believed him. Nobody but Guthrie. Once the men killed Stash and sank the body, Guthrie knew he couldn't say anything because if he did, they'd get him next." Greenough took another drink of water.

"Guthrie couldn't say anything because he was the one who'd told the government agents about the still. He was 18 years old and believed that breaking the law was wrong. He'd seen how the men in town had turned hard and done cruel things to protect their operation." Greenough shook his head. "He told me he didn't want anybody to get hurt. He just wanted the town of Hunter to be better than Titus had been. He didn't want to see it founded on crime and meanness."

The group sat quietly for a long moment. "Why did he come back now? After all these years?" Park asked at last.

Greenough shrugged. "I'm not sure."

Dean walked back to the booth, carefully watching the lights for any sign of a return of the spirit. Everything was quiet. The walls around the restaurant were decorated with all sorts of pictures, signs, and small antiques. He found everything from old cheese graters to laundry rub boards to harnesses. High on the wall above the haunted booth hung a cane and brown fedora hat.

He stepped up on the seat, apologizing to Mayor Elbert under his breath as he did so, and pulled the hat off the hook on the wall. The band inside bore a monogrammed label, GLE. A careful search revealed a couple of short gray hairs clinging to the inside of the band. He hung the hat back on the wall but brought the hairs out to the table with the group.

"I can't believe there's actually an ashtray in this place," he stated as he curled the hairs up inside the glass dish he'd found. "Park, give me your lighter."

"I don't have one anymore. I quit smoking. Again," Park answered with a growl. "All I've got is a pack of nicotine patches."

"Here. Use mine." Billy reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a red plastic lighter. "I always keep a way to make a fire."

"Not a bad idea," Dean stated. "Especially if you're going to be dealing with stuff like this on an ongoing basis."

Billy's face dropped three shades of color as Dean lit the hairs. "Regular basis?" he squeaked. "Why do you say that?"

Dean looked over at Elizabeth. She watched the hairs burn, her brow wrinkled in thought. Her big eyes were dark and serious. "The night we met," he began as he took her hand in his, "you said Hunter wasn't haunted. But ever since that minute, there's been one crazy thing after another. Why? Why are all these old sleeping evils suddenly waking up in Hunter?"

"Titus." Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Practically everything has been tied in some way to Titus."

"And Titus was a wide open place," Dean agreed. "Stash was killed in Titus, the bed and breakfast hooker was from Titus, that box in the store came from the original store in Titus."

"You're right," Park agreed. "Even the hospital is on the outskirts of town on Old Titus Road."

"So what is going on in or near the old community of Titus that could be causing all this?" Greenough asked.

"I think I know." Billy raised his head from where he'd been staring at the laminate table top. "It's not a what. It's a who."

The group looked at him expectantly.

"Charles Ranulf." Billy stood and checked his pistol. "His name is Charles Ranulf."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Who the hell is Charles Ranulf?" Dean asked. "And can we get something to eat? I'm starving."

A grateful restaurant staff began frying catfish and hush puppies for the group as Billy explained his theory. "This guy is a real weird one. He bought up a bunch of land in the old Titus community, including some of the old buildings. He never comes to town. Nobody knows anything about him. It's got to be him."

Given several minutes and a smart phone, Elizabeth knew even more about him. "He's an ex-Marine, decorated. Divorced, no kids. But I don't see anything else out there on him. No arrest record, no big credit issues."

Dean eyed her with open approval. "You are as good as Sammy on that thing. Better."

"If I learned anything in law school, it was how to dig up information," she replied with a wink that sent shivers down his spine.

"So what now? Do we go confront him? With what? Suspicion of being an evil warlock?" Park asked as he dug into the plate of hush puppies a waitress set before him.

"We don't have to confront him," Dean explained as he pulled flaky white catfish off the bone, blowing at the steam that rose from his fork. "We just go visit. Any pretense will do. If he's up to no good, we'll probably know it pretty fast."

"How?" Park pressed him. "We need warrants and probable cause."

"I don't. All I need is a fake ID and a crowbar." Dean gave him a grin as he popped a hush puppy into his mouth.

"That's all I didn't need to hear." Billy rose from the table. "You guys do what you need to do, but I don't know anything about it." He tossed his napkin next to his plate. "But call me if you need me. I'll be on the radio all night. I know where this yo-yo lives. I won't be far."

They finished their meal and headed to the parking lot.

Dean put his hand on Elizabeth's arm and called for the SBI boys to wait on him. "Lizzy, I'm going to do something I've never done before. It's really hard for me, but I want you to know that I'm counting on you to see it through." With a groan of reluctance, he pressed the keys to the Impala into her hand. "Lizzy, take Baby home for me."

She eyed him suspiciously, but took the keys. "Be careful, Dean. Okay?" She stepped closer to kiss him on the cheek, but he turned his face so that the kiss landed on his lips instead.

She jumped a little in surprise, but didn't pull away when he reached up to her cheek. "You are incredible, you know that?"

"I mean it. Be careful," she answered. Then she kissed him again, this time right on the mouth. Her lips were soft and warm against his, and despite the fact that Ross and Greenough were waiting for him, he couldn't help taking the time to deepen the kiss, to explore just a moment, to pull her body closer to him so that he could feel the way she curved against him.

She'd asked him to be careful. It was a tall order for Dean Winchester. Danger hung around him like cheap cologne, and he knew it. He danced around the edge between life and death constantly and had dipped his toe into the Styx more than once.

But Elizabeth was warm and whole in his arms, full of life. She didn't belong anywhere near the dark carnival he and Sam called an existence. He needed her safe. So he let himself kiss her once more. He allowed himself one more microsecond in her arms. Then he set her back away from him and said, "I'll be fine. Get yourself home. I'll come get my keys when we're done."

"I'll take good care of her for you," Elizabeth promised as she slipped behind the wheel of the Impala.

He nodded and watched her drive away, his emotions twisting inside him.

Several minutes later, the three men arrived at Charles Ranulf's house. Ranulf met them at the door, huge and gruff.

Dean flashed an ID at the door and declared, "We're from the gas company. Does this home have natural gas?"

The possibility of exploding gas lines gave them all the entrance they needed into the house and even out to the sheds and barns with Dean's EMF meter serving as a gas leak detector.

Ranulf gave unsuspicious answers to all their questions and didn't so much as blink when Dean accidentally on purpose spilled a little holy water from his Evian bottle on his arm. The EMF detector didn't so much as chirp once during the entire visit.

"You've sure got a nice place out here," Greenough commented genially. "Somebody said you've actually got some of the old buildings from Titus on the property."

"Yeah. That's one of the reasons I bought the place. I'm a history buff. I thought it would be cool to restore an old ghost town," Ranulf stated. "But most of the buildings are falling down so bad it'd take more money than I've got to put them back right."

"Speaking of ghosts, I bet it's a pretty creepy place." Park laughed.

"Not really. The creepiest stuff out there are the possums and rat snakes," Ranulf replied with a laugh of his own. "But I do have to say that I don't ever go out to the old Kelly shack. That place does make my skin crawl."

"Any gas lines run out that direction?" Dean asked. "Which way is the house?"

Ranulf pointed out into the woods. "It's about a mile down this old logging road," he stated. "But there's no gas or water or electricity out there. It's been abandoned for a century at least. The house is nearly on the ground. I was going to bulldoze it when I first bought the land and put up some shooting houses for deer season."

"Sounds like a good idea," Dean offered.

"Yeah. Good idea. But every time I got near that place I felt like somebody was watching me. So I just left it alone." Ranulf shook his head.

"You don't look like the type that scares easy, if you don't mind my saying so," Dean commented, hoping the man would elaborate.

"I was boots on the ground all over the world during my active duty days. I saw all kinds of action. So no I don't scare easy. But I'm not going back out there." Ranulf's voice was firm. "Some things you just don't disturb."

They thanked the man and walked back to the Taurus.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked as they stood around the trunk. "Worth a trip down a logging road to check it out?"

"I don't know," Park answered. "We've seen all kinds of crazy stuff lately. Maybe we just let this bit of crazy go."

"I agree." Greenough shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Ranulf strikes me as a straight-up kind of guy. A little weird. A loner. But I think he was being honest. Maybe we let this one go."

 _And maybe I come back later by myself_ , Dean decided. _Or maybe not._

Dean slipped into the back seat of the SBI Taurus and let them drop him off at the apartment. He couldn't help a little sigh of relief as he spotted Baby in her parking place just where she ought to be. He went upstairs and knocked on Lizzy's door.

"What did you find?" she asked eagerly as he came inside.

"Nothing. Not a damned thing. Charles Ranulf is a big, scary looking dude, but nothing funky hung around him that I could tell." Dean sighed and fell onto her couch. "We've got a lead to check, but nothing concrete."

"Have you talked to Sam?"

"Nah. He's on a date with Abigail. I think they had evening plans if you know what I mean. I didn't want to bother them if I didn't have to. God knows we don't usually get to spend time living like civilians." Dean stretched his feet out on the ottoman and rubbed his face.

"Civilians?"

"You've seen how Park and Greenough operate. They're the law and order side of all this. Sam and I are the special forces. We do what they can't."

Elizabeth sat down beside him, her feet curled up beneath her. She'd changed into yoga pants and a big t-shirt.

"It's late. I better let you get to bed," he declared. "Too much weirdness in one night isn't good for you." He got up and headed for the door. "All I wanted was a nice quiet dinner so we could talk. I want you to understand who I am and what I do. Lizzy, I really like you. I just wanted you to like me too."

"I do like you. And tonight I got another chance to see what you do. It's terrifying, but it's real and it's important." She stood up and walked him to the door. "And at least dates with you are interesting."

"So you'll go out with me again?" he asked. "You'll come eat the frozen lasagna I left in the oven?"

"No. I am not going to let you reheat that thing. We'll cook together over here tomorrow. Deal?" She smiled at him and his insides lit up with joy as he agreed.

She leaned forward on her toes and gave him a soft, brief kiss then pressed his keys into his hand. "Good night, Dean. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night." He headed back to his place. Scooter yawned and stretched as he entered, then followed him into the kitchen. He refreshed the dog's water bowl, then made himself a sandwich. Only a few minutes later, he'd finished eating, brushed his teeth, and crawled into bed.

It was quiet, so quiet he could hear the crickets chirping outside the window. Scooter curled up against his back in a little warm ball. Everything about the building was peaceful. The town was peaceful. How could there be something so wrong out there? Where was it all coming from? Multiple hauntings, crazy Choctaw monsters, possessed hardware stores. But in all that action, nobody had been seriously hurt.

It felt like all the bad juju just couldn't stick. Like as hard as evil tried to infiltrate this sleepy little place, it kept sliding off it.

But Dean knew that wasn't how evil worked. It would keep grasping and digging until it found a toehold. Unless they stopped it now, it would only get worse.

Finally he fell asleep. As he slept, he dreamed. He could see smoke rising in the trees near Charles Ranulf's place. He followed the smoke to the chimney of a little house down the logging road. He walked closer and closer to the place and could feel a presence there behind the walls, a presence that woke and stretched. And in his dream, Dean was afraid.

Beside him Scooter sat up and growled softly. The little dog hopped off the bed and wandered through the apartment, sniffing the air and growling. At last he stopped at the kitchen window and barked. The moonlight illuminated a face, just for a moment, then it was gone. Scooter snorted and barked again, then as if satisfied, went back to his spot on Dean's bed, curled up beside him and went back to sleep.

The next morning, Dean woke up feeling as if he'd been pulled through a hedge backwards. Not even coffee and a shower could fix the sensation that he'd spent the night running for his life.

Scooter padded through the kitchen then stopped next to his water bowl and stretched. "Tell me about it, Scoots. I'm pooped too." Dean refilled the bowl with clean water and ruffled the little dog's fur. Scooter repaid him with a lick on the hand, then proceeded to drink deeply from the bowl. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at the kitchen window with a low growl, then a single bark.

"What is it? What do you see?" Dean leaned over the sink and peered through the glass. "I get nothing, boy. Not even a squirrel." Scooter sniffed once then went back to his water, apparently satisfied.

Dean looked at the clock and wondered if it was too early to call Elizabeth. "It's never too early to text," he decided and sent a "you awake?" to her phone. To his delight, he got back a "yes" to both his first question and "breakfast?" To his even deeper delight, she followed up with "come over."

He dressed and fairly ran down the hall, Scooter at his heels. "Do you mind if Scooter joins us? He sort of invited himself along," Dean explained as she opened the door.

"Not at all. Come on in, Scootie-baby." She knelt to give Scooter a scratch behind the ears and a kiss on the head and asked if Sam was coming as well.

"He's still asleep," Dean answered. Since his brother hadn't returned from Abigail's place, he could only assume that to be true. "It's just us. And truthfully, I really like it this way."

Elizabeth made him a cup of coffee. "So he didn't come back from Abby's last night?" she guessed.

Dean shook his head.

"I'm not surprised. Abby really likes him." She opened the refrigerator. "I don't have much in here, I'm afraid. I really shouldn't have offered breakfast. But I wanted to see you."

Dean felt his face light up. "I'm not hard to please. I'd be having cereal at my place. What did you want to see me about?"

"I had a crazy dream last night," Elizabeth began as she sat down at the little table across from him. She played with her coffee mug for several seconds, a frown on her face.

"Clearly it wasn't a good dream," he said, reaching out to take her hand in his. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."

She looked up at him, a touch of fear in her eyes. "I need to tell you. It was about you and it scared me."

Dean stood and took her by the hand to lead her to the living room. He pulled her down beside him on the couch and put an arm around her shoulders. Scooter immediately hopped up to lie curled up at her other side. "I shouldn't have taken you with me last night," he apologized. "I shouldn't have exposed you to more of my craziness."

She squeezed his hand. "No, I'm okay with it. I wanted to see what you do. I want to know. The dream was not about the restaurant. It was about a house in the woods. There was smoke coming from a chimney and you followed it."

Dean cleared his throat. Her words triggered the memory of his dreams from the night before. Suddenly he could recall the house, the smoke, and the presence he felt inside. "How did you know about that?" he asked. "Did I say something last night?"

"No. I just had this dream that something in that house woke up and came after you. Did you go there last night?" her voice shook.

He pulled her even more closely into his chest. "It was a dream. We went to Ranulf's house but that was all. Nothing happened there. He was weird but clean. No spooks. It was just a dream."

It had to be. He kept telling himself there was no way she'd dreamed the same thing he had.

"I was worried about you last night. I kept hoping you'd call or text when you left there. I'm glad you came over when you got in." She relaxed against him just a bit more as he played with her hair.

"Worried? About me?" A feeling ran through him. At first he thought it was panic, then he realized it was excitement. She was worried about him. Nobody ever worried about him. Nobody but Sam knew he was ever in any trouble and nine times out of ten Sam was in the same deep shit right beside him.

"You deal with terrible things," she said with a shiver. "How can I not worry?"

"I'll make a deal with you," he answered. "I promise to be careful if you promise to trust me. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself. I know what I'm doing."

"I know you do. But I just can't shake the feeling that something terrible is out there looking for you." She gazed up at him, those big brown eyes anxious for him.

He had to kiss her then. He had to kiss away that anxiety. But just as much, he wanted to imprint himself on her so she would keep caring about him. In her eyes right that moment, he was valuable. He meant something to her, something he hadn't messed up or thrown away. In that instant of time, he was worth worrying over, and as much as he didn't want to cause her pain, he also didn't want her to stop worrying because it would mean she'd stopped caring.

More than anything, he needed Elizabeth to care about him.

A vacuum existed inside him, a gigantic hole left by the past, a longing he'd worked all his life to ignore. He'd devoted himself to helping his dad, to trying to please him by hunting better, longer, and more diligently. He'd devoted himself to Sam, to raising him and protecting him, to teaching him everything he'd learned.

But until that moment, Dean had never allowed anyone to care about him. He'd always kept the rest of the world at arm's length, making sure his tough exterior protected him from getting too involved. But something about this smart, sexy, small-town lawyer melted away his shell. Hell, he wanted to be with her so badly he hadn't even tried to sleep with her.

Now the empty place inside him ached for her. It screamed for picket fences and lazy mornings and evenings at home. It begged for her to hold him and love him and make a place for him at her side so he didn't have to wander anymore. Elizabeth could be his anchor, his safe haven. She could fill up the hole with her love for him and he would know forever that he was valuable.

He kissed her over and over, trying to take her very essence into himself. _Please_ , his mind whispered over and over. _Please._ But he had no idea what he was asking. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood rushing in his veins, and he knew he was rapidly approaching the place where thought turned into instinct.

He forced himself to stop his hands at her shoulders. He willed himself to pull back, to take a deep breath, to allow a few inches of space between them.

He became aware that she too was out of breath, her hands at his waist. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't have words for the way she made him feel. The hole inside him was so raw, so desperate, that he couldn't address it. His throat ached with emotion, fear and hope and desire all rolled up together in an overwhelming tidal wave of vulnerability.

"I don't..." he began. "I can't..."

Somehow Elizabeth understood. "It's okay." She pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. "You don't have to," she murmured into his ear. He buried his face in her neck and just tried to breathe.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

He sat on the sofa next to Elizabeth, just breathing in her scent and feeling her warmth beside him. His thoughts and emotions raced in his head, but she didn't press him. Instead she leaned against him, her fingers threaded in his. He didn't want to breathe or move for fear he'd break the spell and all that peace and contentment would evaporate, leaving him empty again.

If it was true that you don't know what you've got till it's gone, for Dean it was suddenly, vividly true that you don't know what you're missing until you found it. All the years he'd traveled with his Dad and Sam, he never knew Elizabeth existed. He never knew there would come a day when he would sit beside her and feel whole.

In all those years, he never realized that part of himself was missing-no, that wasn't right, he decided. That part was always there, but until he met her, it was asleep, dormant, waiting for her touch to wake it up.

A deep sense of elation rose inside him, but panic clawed its way up right behind. This girl had a professional degree; he had a GED, barely. How could he ever keep up in a conversation with her? With her friends? He knew shitloads about ghosts and skinwalkers but absolutely nothing about normal life.

More important, Elizabeth was a good person. She was thoughtful and kind. She wasn't a killer or a liar or a con-artist or a hustler. How could he ever expect to be worth her time, not to mention her respect, much less her love?

And the thing that frightened him the most was how badly he needed her time, respect, and love. He'd finally found what had been missing in his life for all those years. If he walked away from her, he'd have to leave that entire future behind him. He'd have to leave behind the person he could be with her.

But maybe to protect her from himself, he'd have to do just that.

He kissed the top of her head, blinking away his fears. He wouldn't deal with any of it now. Right now, he just wanted to be with her, to be the man he could only be with her at his side.

Then his stomach growled. Loud.

She laughed. "I did promise you breakfast," she said as she rose from the sofa and pulled him to his feet. "Let's cook."

Soon they'd produced real food, food significantly healthier and more delicious than he typically managed on his own. It was even healthier than the stuff Sam always ordered, but so good he devoured it anyway.

"I'm not very good at cleaning up, but I know how to run the dishwasher," he offered.

"I will take you up on that while I grab a quick shower," she replied.

She left the room and within a few minutes he could hear the water running in the bathroom. "Yeah, sure, you go take off all your clothes and start rubbing soap all over your naked skin while I'm here in the next room feeding scraps to Scooter," he muttered under his breath. Then he splashed some cold water on his face. "Scooter, she's trying to kill me."

Somehow he got the dishes in the dishwasher and even cleaned up the counters before she emerged from her bedroom. She was dressed in jeans and a soft knit top, and her hair hung in damp curls around her shoulders. "I didn't think you'd have the patience for me to dry my hair," she explained as she slipped on her shoes.

"Why? Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're going to check out whatever you're not telling me about Ranulf's place," she declared. "I know you found something out there. So let's go."

"No. As adorable as you look with your go-shoes on, I am not about to take you exploring the woods." He held his ground as she stared him down. "I don't doubt for a second your spook-hunting abilities, Lizzy. But I don't want you anywhere near that cabin."

"So there is a cabin." She declared triumphantly. "In the woods? Near Ranulf's place? Why did I dream about it?"

"I have no clue. I haven't even seen the place myself. Ranulf just said there was an old house. He called it the Kelly house. Said it had been abandoned for a hundred years," Dean played it off as casually as possible, but just talking about the place made the back of his mind begin to crawl with vague dream memories.

A cold chill ran over him, followed by a strong sense of foreboding. But there was an attraction too. Something about that house called to him. "I guess we could drive out there," he began, but Scooter barked sharply at him, then ran to the window, a low throaty growl vibrating in his throat.

As Dean looked past the curtains, he half glimpsed a movement outside. But as quickly as he spotted it, it disappeared so fast he decided he imagined it.

"No. I take it back," Elizabeth declared firmly. "We leave this one alone."

"What changed your mind so fast?" Dean couldn't help but feel a bit of relief.

"The look on your face just now. It made me remember." She paused and wrapped her arms around herself as she stared out the window. "I dreamed that look. I dreamed us going there and you had that same look on your face. Something out there wants you, Dean. Something really terrible." She turned to look at him, her eyes pleading. "Leave this one alone, okay?"

Up until that moment, Dean hadn't really wanted to go out to the Kelly place. After all, the place had been abandoned a hundred years, and dreaming about it all night hadn't helped. He knew Elizabeth was right. That place wanted him to come. It called to him even as it threatened him.

Normally, that sort of interaction only made him want to tackle it more, to take down whatever evil baddie thought it could screw around with Dean Winchester and survive.

But the truth was, this one frightened him. He could feel its influence working its way into his thoughts, his feelings. He knew that the longer that place waited, the angrier it would get. Sooner or later, he would have to confront it.

But not now. Not today. Not with Elizabeth. When the big showdown happened with old Kelly, he didn't want her anywhere near.

"I won't go out there," he told her. "We'll do something else today. Something fun. Okay?"

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. He pulled her against him and felt her relax into his embrace.

One day wouldn't hurt. He could take one day to enjoy with her, especially since he finally remembered how his dreams ended. Right before he woke up, he'd dreamed he died.

-0-

Sam and Abigail finally showed their faces just before noon, in time to join them for lunch at the downtown burger joint. It was a dark hole in the wall, dominated by a big griddle with the smoke of over a century coating the brick wall behind it. An ancient metal rack held rows of individual sized bags of chips, three flavors only, plain, barbecue, and salt and vinegar. Another rack on top of the scarred Formica counter held stacks of tiny pecan pies.

"I can't believe you haven't eaten here yet. Priddy's Hamburgers is a national treasure," Elizabeth commented as she slipped into a booth.

Sam took one look at the available space and shook his head. "No way. I am not wedging myself into that thing. Instead he pulled out a red vinyl chair and sat at a table, Abigail across from him.

"Well, I like the booth," Dean declared and tucked himself in across from Elizabeth.

"I'm glad you like it. This is my mom and dad's booth," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "See?" She pointed to a pair of initials carved into the wall.

"Your parents lived in Hunter?" Dean asked. He hadn't even considered that she might have family nearby.

"Still do. So do my grandparents on both sides. Well, my dad's parents live about five miles out of town but they have a Hunter mailing address."

Wow. She had two sets of grandparents, both alive. No one missing or killed under mysterious circumstances. And she had parents, a living, breathing mom and dad.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Dean asked curiously. "How can I not already know this?"

"I have two older brothers, both married and with kids," she replied. "I have two nieces and two nephews. Four under five. It's insane at our house at Christmas."

For a long second he couldn't breathe. All he'd had was his dad and Sammy, mostly Sammy. He'd grown up without family, without a home, without traditions or grandparents. Most of their holidays had been passed in a motel, the two of them wondering if their dad would show.

But sitting there across from Elizabeth, he could suddenly imagine this house full of people and kids and food with a huge Christmas tree. He felt both suffocated and elated at the thoughts of trying to fit in with them. How would her parents feel about him? What could he possibly have to offer their daughter as a future?

Before his imagination could run completely amok, a lanky woman approached them, a green pad in her hand. "What can I get you two?" she asked.

Dean quickly checked out the menu board on the wall beside the grill. "I'll take two burgers, a bag of barbecue chips, and a Dr. Pepper."

"With or without?" the waitress asked.

"Huh?"

"The burgers come either with onions or without them," Elizabeth explained. "It's the best burger in the world, but not overly fancy. I recommend with."

"Okay, then, with." Elizabeth placed her order, choosing with as well. He smiled at her. He liked a woman who enjoyed her food and wasn't afraid to be real with him.

"I promise to brush my teeth as soon as we get back home," she declared.

"I'm not waiting until then," he declared and leaned across the narrow table as she did the same. Their lips met in a gentle kiss.

"So have you two come to an understanding?" Abigail asked with a grin.

Elizabeth looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. He would never get used to how sexy that looked, he decided. "We're taking things one step at a time," Dean stated, his eyes never leaving hers. He wanted to judge how she took his answer. At her nod, he found himself grinning in relief. He could do one step at a time. Since his usual mode was to plow in head first, he considered slow and steady to be a sure sign of maturity. She had to like that.

Their burgers came, delivered on sheets of wax paper with a bag of chips and a canned drink. It was about as plain as you could get, but he had to agree with Elizabeth that it was pure, unadulturated hamburger goodness. He finished his in record time and ordered another. Sam polished off four without thinking and even got a couple of pies. Dean gave him the eye of judgment, but Sam just mumbled, "This is breakfast and lunch," around his mouthful of second pie.

Once they finished eating, Sam and Abigail declared their intention of hitting the library. "I want to hunt for any information on that Kelly place you were telling us about on the way here," Sam declared. "I had some funny dreams last night about an old cabin. I wonder if they're connected."

At Elizabeth's look of surprise, Dean explained, "Sam's a weirdo. He dreams stuff."

"What about us? We dreamed stuff too last night and the last time I checked, I didn't have any psychic ability," Elizabeth replied. "What's going on here?"

"What did you dream?" Sam asked her. As she told him about seeing an old farmhouse in the woods and feeling like a figure was inside watching Dean, the hairs on the back of Dean's neck began to stand up. It sounded just like his own dreams, only his had even more disturbing details.

 _The place was old, wooden floorboards and a large brick fireplace. A woman stood between him and the door, tall and skinny with sunken cheeks. Her lank black hair hung halfway down her back. She wore a long yellow dress that hung from her skeletal frame. "I been waiting for you to get here," she hissed. Then she reached out for him with long fingers, her eyes rolling back in her head so that only the whites showed. "I been needing what you got inside you. Now I'm gonna let it out." Her fingers dug into his flesh. Her nails sprouted long razor-like claws and she tore at his throat, so that his blood spilled out on the wooden floorboards._

 _The room spun around him until he collapsed onto his side. He couldn't move, but watched the life pour out of him in a huge pool around the woman. She held out her arms and began to convulse as it ran over her shoes and up her legs, turning her dress red, dripping down her hair. She breathed in a deep, gasping breath and as she did, all that blood began to soak into her like she was a sponge. As it did, her flesh filled out and her skin began to glow, transforming her from a corpse to a living body. His last sight before the dream ended was of her standing before him, her head thrown back in a laugh of triumph._

He sat there in the booth of the hamburger joint and re-lived the entire dream, his hands clenching the wax paper sheet into a tight greasy ball.

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Sure." Dean forced himself to drop the paper and wiped his hands on some napkins he pulled from the chrome rack on the table. Sam gave him his own eye of judgment and he knew he'd face a serious grilling from his little brother later on. "Elizabeth and I are going to check out the antique place on the square," he declared.

"We are?" Elizabeth asked, then followed up immediately with, "yes, we're going antiquing for a little while." The group parted company at the front door, Dean taking Elizabeth's hand and tucking it into his arm, old-fashioned style.

"So, are you feeling okay? You don't seem like the antique type."

"We're just walking. I haven't been here yet, so it seemed like a good choice."

They crossed the street and headed down the block past an insurance office and a pharmacy. They'd passed a real estate office and were in front of the town's barber shop when he heard the rapid clopping of hooves. He looked up to see a team of horses and a wagon bearing down on them at top speed.

"What the hell?" he blurted as he pushed Elizabeth toward the doorway of the shop. But it was too late. Everything seemed to run in slow motion as he saw the horses right on top of them, their eyes white with terror. The leading bar of the harness slammed into him, throwing him heavily to the ground right under the pounding hooves of the team of four huge farm horses.

Instinctively, he curled into a tight ball, but the hooves still slammed into him from each side, knocking him painfully back and forth so that when the wagon passed, he only barely rolled out from under the front wheel. The spokes knocked painfully against his head and elbow as it passed him, finally drawing to a halt with him still underneath.

He rolled onto his back. He could feel the uneven brick sidewalk pavers beneath him and could see the dusty, muddy undercarriage of the wagon. One of the boards bore a stamped imprint of the word Birmingham. A fine white powder settled through the cracks in the boards showering onto his face and in his eyes. He sneezed, causing his ribcage to scream in agony. Flour. It tasted like flour. He'd been run down by the Pillsbury Doughboy.

Where was Elizabeth? She'd been right beside him. He looked for her but couldn't see anything in the shadow of the wagon's body but the spokes of the wagon wheels beside him. He started to sneeze again and gripped his ribs tightly in anticipation. He knew he'd cracked at least one. But the sneeze faded away and he breathed a silent thank you.

"Lizzie?" he called, but his voice came out as a whisper instead. His head pounded and he could feel a stickiness running down the back of his neck. As he gained awareness of the rest of his body, he realized that he hurt all over but that nothing seemed to be broken. But where was Elizabeth?

Sunlight suddenly flooded into his face as the wagon evaporated. "Elizabeth?" he called again, blinking away the flour.

"Oh my God! Dean! Are you okay?" Elizabeth's face hovered into view. He'd never seen anything more welcome or more beautiful. He tried to sit up, but his ribs screamed in his chest.

"Where they hell did that come from?" he asked as he rolled to his other side and breathed against the pain.

"It's gone now," she answered. "It ran right through me."

"It ran right over me," Dean moaned as he finally managed to sit up.

"Dean!" He could hear Sam calling his name from across the street. His brother dashed across the road to his side, throwing himself to his knees. "What the hell happened to you?"

"A team of horses?" Dean guessed aloud. "And a wagon full of flour." He wiped at his face and spat the dry powdery flour from his lips.

"Let me see that," Sam gestured at his flour-covered fingers. "This is insane. Did anybody else see the wagon?"

"Elizabeth had to have seen it. It nearly ran her down too," Dean tried to get a foot underneath him, but he could feel a deep bruise beginning in his thigh. "Give me a hand here, Sammy," he held out a hand.

Sam began to pull, but the force pulled at his ribcage, causing him to gasp in pain. Unfortunately the gasp only made it much worse. He felt his face break out in a sudden sweat and he fought back the tide of nausea that swelled in him.

"Man, I think you need a doctor." Sam sounded serious.

-0-

The doctor agreed. "You've got a pretty bad cut here. It's going to need stitches. And I'd like to be sure you don't have a concussion to go with this cracked rib. I think your leg is just bruised really badly, but I'd still like to have an x-ray to make sure." He peered at Dean over the top of his glasses. "Now tell me again how you got these injuries."

"I fell down the stairs." At the man's continued stare, he added, "It was a long way and there were pipes in the way. And flour."

"Mr. Winchester, I'm going to be frank with you. Are you in trouble in some way? Have you been threatened?" The doctor put down his clipboard and leaned against the cabinet. "The young man that brought you in. Did he do this?"

"What? No!" Dean replied. "My brother wouldn't hurt a fly." Then any number of contrary memories flashed through his head. "Sam didn't do this."

"Then who did?" the doctor asked. "You look like you've been beaten pretty badly."

"I swear to you I'm safe at home. In fact, I'm just going to go right now," Dean declared and tried to hop off the examination table. Unfortunately, that bruised thigh didn't hold his weight and his head swam with dizziness. The doctor barely managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll drop the whole somebody beat the crap out of you thing if you'll stay overnight. Let us keep an eye on you." The doctor helped him back onto the table and pressed another wad of gauze to the back of his head.

"And if I don't?" Dean asked, trying hard not to throw up from the pain in his chest where his near tumble had tugged against that cracked rib.

"I can't force you to stay here. But I'd feel better if you did. Your brother can stay if you like."

"All right. One night."

-0-

Sam couldn't believe he'd agreed to a night in the hospital. "What the hell? We don't do hospitals," he stormed at him. Then he gave him the eye of judgment. "How hurt are you? What aren't you telling me?"

"I just want the good drugs for once, Sammy," Dean tried not to whine from his spot in the hospital bed. "My head hurts and my ribs hurt and my leg hurts. I hurt all over. I got ran down by a team of phantom horses that nobody saw but me. Can't I just have the good drugs and try to feel better?"

"I saw them," Elizabeth spoke up from the chair by his bed. "They looked like outlines of horses, filled with water or something. But I could tell they were horses. They passed right through me."

"Then why did Dean catch the full 3-D version?" Sam asked. "Did you feel anything?"

Elizabeth shivered. "Just cold. And I could see Dean being banged around by their hooves and the wagon wheel because I was right in the middle of it. But it was like being inside a movie. It was only real for Dean. Not for me."

"I was across the street and didn't see a thing other than Dean hitting the ground. I thought maybe he'd been shot or had a seizure or something," Sam sighed.

"Does that happen often?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you guys get shot or have seizures or get run down by teams of ghost horses that leave behind real flour very often?"

Her voice carried an edge to it that made Dean anxious, but the drugs were beginning to kick in. "No, baby, we don't do things like that all time," he began in as calming a voice as he could muster given the thickness of his tongue. "I've never had a seizure and I've only been shot five or ten times. Sam's been stabbed. A few. I've been stabbed, probably more than Sammy. But not like that much."

Elizabeth stared at him. He tried to smile, but his smile went all wobbly.

"Dean, I don't think Elizabeth needs to hear this," Sam tried to stop him from adding to the story.

"Oh, but I do." Elizabeth stood up and moved her chair right next to Dean's bedside. Then she sat down and took his hand in hers. The hospital bracelet on his wrist itched. "Tell me about it, sweetie. Tell me about what's happened to you."

"Well, I've been to hell and back. Literally. Not a fun place, let me tell you. But I'm better," Dean began. "I don't think about it all the time any more. And not with you. Not here. Here is good. Here feels like a fresh start."

He wanted to tell her more, but he was so sleepy. "I wish Scooter was here," he breathed. Then he forced his eyes open. Sam sat at the end of the bed. Elizabeth was still right beside him, her hand holding his so warm, so soft. He squeezed her fingers. He had something to tell her, something that would wipe the worry off her face and the tears out of her eyes.

His eyes drifted shut again. He couldn't make words form. The signal from his brain tried hard to make it to his lips but they wouldn't shape themselves into anything but murmurs and sighs.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked him, her face leaning close to his. "Do you need something?"

"Tell you," he murmured. "Tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I love you." That was it. It made it out of his drug-fogged brain and to his lips.

"It's okay, sweetie. Sleep, okay? I'm right here. Just sleep."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Elizabeth sat at Dean's bedside and watched his eyes drift shut. His fingers held hers tightly for a long moment, but at last his grip loosened. His face relaxed into sleep, the years and cares falling away until he looked more like a little boy than a grown man.

He'd said he loved her, and she believed him. She knew he meant it, but she also knew the drugs had dropped his inhibitions as well as alleviating the pain he was in from his injuries. Maybe one day, Dean would repeat the words to her sober, but until then, she would pretend that it hadn't happened.

She hoped Sam hadn't heard. She absolutely didn't want Dean to be teased about it and did not put it past Sam to give him all kinds of grief. She'd heard the "Bitch-jerk" exchange between them often enough to know the two didn't pull many punches.

She looked back at the doorway where Sam stood, his phone in his hand. He looked worried, but not desperately so. Apparently, she looked desperately worried because Sam looked up from his texting and gave her a smile.

"Don't worry about Dean. He's had so much worse than this it isn't funny. Any other time he'd be driving home right now, swearing and chasing Tylenol with Jack Daniels," Sam assured her. He shook his head. "Truly, I don't know why he's taking the easy road now."

"Maybe because the doctor thinks you or somebody like you beat the crap out of him," Elizabeth answered. "He pretty much got the ultimatum to stay overnight in the hospital where the staff can make sure nobody else tries to beat him to death or the doctor was going to call the cops."

Sam frowned and crossed the short distance to the opposite side of Dean's bed. He pulled up a rolling stool from the corner and sat. "You know what happened, right?" Sam sounded anxious. "You saw everything."

"Sam, what I saw is immaterial. No doctor in this hospital is going to buy the story that Dean got run down by a team of horses pulling a wagon full of flour barrels," Elizabeth answered. "And a lie always sounds like a lie even if it makes much more logical sense than the truth. At least the doctor's letting us stay with him."

"You know you can go home and rest whenever you want. I've got it here," Sam offered.

"Maybe in a little while."

Sam sat on the stool in silence for several minutes. He let out a deep breath and looked at her with soulful eyes. "Lizzy, I know Dean has feelings for you. But you need to know some things about him, about us. He's never going to settle down. We can't. I tried once, a long time ago. It ended badly. Maybe some of those circumstances are behind us now, maybe not. But the truth is, we don't know how to settle down. I've never had a home or a real family with aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. I've made my peace with that."

He paused and looked at Dean's sleeping form. "But I don't think Dean ever has. He remembers a time when we did have a home. I think he really would like to have it again. He just doesn't know how. He's never had a serious relationship with anyone. I'm not sure he can do it. It might be too late for him. For both of us."

Elizabeth forced herself to blink back tears. Someone had to be strong enough to carry them all. Someone had to know how to hope. "He's told me the short version of your story," she replied. "I may never know it all. The truth is I probably don't want to know it all. But I promise you this, I won't ask any more of Dean than he is able and willing to give. Whether we part company tomorrow or at the end of our lives, I will be on his side, doing whatever is best for him. If that means letting him go, then I will even if it breaks my heart to do it. If that means loving him for the next hundred years, I'll do that too. Where I come from, we don't play around with love. It's serious business."

"So no booty calls?" Dean whispered from the bed.

"You are supposed to be sleeping." Elizabeth felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She hadn't meant for him to hear that, not yet at least. "And no. I don't do booty calls."

"Damn. All the same I wish you'd stay." His voice was light, but his eyes pleaded with her and his fingers reached for hers again.

"Of course I'll stay, sweetie." She bent over him and kissed him lightly on that cupid's bow of a mouth, running a hand over his cheek where a hint of stubble was just barely beginning to break through. "Now sleep."

He sighed and relaxed again, but his fingers kept hold of hers.

-0-

Sometime into the night, she converted the guest chair into what turned out to be a very uncomfortable bed and a nurse brought her a thin blanket and plastic covered pillow. When Sam came back from a vending machine run to see her settling in, he declared that he would just head back to the apartment and relieve her in the morning.

Around midnight, the nurse came in to check vitals and change the bag on the IV. "Elizabeth Coleman. What in heaven's name are you doing here?" she asked as Elizabeth sat up on the edge of the chair.

"Dean's my neighbor." She'd known Tameka Johnson for years and doubted her explanation would suffice.

Sure enough, the nurse shook her head. "Uhn uhn, girl. That ain't going to get it. Does your mama know you're down here staying in this boy's room?"

"Well," Elizabeth began, but knew she couldn't lie. "No. My mama doesn't know and don't you go calling her. Dean took a bad fall and didn't have anybody else to stay with him for the night."

"What about that long-haired, lanky thing running the halls? The desk nurse said he was this one's brother. I think she's been trying to strike up a conversation with him," Tameka laughed.

"Yeah, well, you know how much good men are in hospitals," Elizabeth played it off.

"I agree with that one, but still you don't need to be here, a young single woman like yourself with a goodlooking man like this. People are going to talk," Tameka warned.

Elizabeth nodded. People had already begun to talk. Her co-workers knew she was seeing someone, but until Billy had come by running his mouth the day after the Guthrie Elbert incident, they didn't know who. Now that Tameka Johnson had seen them together, it was pretty clear that the cat wouldn't be in the bag much longer.

She sighed. She was going to have to call her mother before somebody else did. She didn't even want to think about how her daddy was going to take knowing his daughter was interested in a ghost-hunter passing through town. She shuddered at that.

She lay back down and tried to sleep, taking comfort in Dean's even breathing. It felt right to be there though. No matter how it looked to the rest of the world, she felt comfortable being the one at his side when he needed her.

He coughed and groaned, clutching at his side. She was up in an instant. "Oh man that hurts like a son of a bitch," he moaned, taking shallow breaths. "Shit." He pressed the button for the pain pump at least five times. "Crap, crap, crap." The steady stream of gasps and curses faded away as the pain relief hit his system.

After several minutes, he finally began to unclench his jaw and relax again. "That's better. Remind me not to cough again, okay?" he asked. She agreed and kissed his forehead. Then she ran her fingers lightly over the crease between his eyes and began to smooth out the crinkles at his temples. "That feels really good. Thank you." His lids dropped once more, his eyelashes lying dark against his cheeks.

It wasn't right for a man to have eyes that beautiful, she thought to herself. Or a mouth that perfect. Even the light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones only added to his gorgeousness, giving him just a hint of boyishness to counter the sexiness of the five o'clock shadow on his cheeks. Before she could turn her attention to the muscular body that lay only lightly draped by the thin hospital blankets, she forced herself to turn away and sit back down again. Tameka was 100% correct. She had no business being in the room of such an incredibly desirable young man.

She picked up the phone to call Sam and ask if he could come relieve her a bit earlier than expected. But before she could dial, a figure in white entered the room. She'd only seen nurses dressed like this one on old television shows. Everything from the woman's hat to her dress to her hose to her shoes was stark white.

She stood up and walked to Dean's bedside again. The woman took his pulse and felt his forehead with the back of her hand. When Elizabeth noticed that the nurse's hand glowed white as well, she began to panic. She glanced all around the room for a shaker of salt.

"Shit, this is a hospital," she whispered to herself. "They don't believe in salt."

But the nurse only smiled at her. "I haven't been able to check on a patient like this in a very long time," she said in a quiet voice. "He's resting comfortably and I'm sure will be well on the mend by morning. Good night, my dear."

The figure walked toward the doorway but faded into nothingness before she ever reached it.

-0-

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, but that didn't mean Elizabeth got a bit of sleep after their night visitor. When Sam came in at five o'clock, she filled him in on everything, gave Dean a kiss on the forehead, and somehow made the half hour drive home without falling asleep.

Back at her place, she took a short, warm shower, then threw herself into bed, shivering against the chill of the sheets for a few minutes before sleep finally overtook her.

She woke a few hours later, still tired but feeling restored enough to go back to the hospital. As she was dressing, her phone rang.

"Hey, sweetie. You ran off on me." It was Dean.

"I didn't want to wake you. You were finally resting again."

"The doctor just came by. He said they're going to let me leave here in a while. I didn't want you to drive over here and me not be here. If you were going to come back. I mean I wanted you to come back, but you don't have to since I'm leaving. Not that you have to come. Because you don't. But I still want you to. But I'm leaving."

She decided he still had plenty of pain-killer in his system and interrupted his rambling. "Of course I was coming back. I was just getting ready. Call when you leave and I'll make lunch for you and Sam. You've got to be starving."

"Man, yeah. Lunch sounds great. Can we have spaghetti? I really want some spaghetti."

"I will make you spaghetti. Just call me when you leave, okay?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

-0-

Three hours and one pot of spaghetti later, Dean and Sam walked through her door, Dean with a noticeable limp and a big white bandage on the back of his head. He held his left arm close to his chest. He eased into a chair at the table and gave her a wincing smile.

"Are you going to live?" she asked.

"Maybe. My ribs hurt like a son of a bitch," he sighed. "I need a shower, but I am starving."

"Fortunately for you both, I have made lunch." She loaded Dean's plate down with spaghetti and green beans along with a piece of garlic bread. He sat very straight in his chair but began to wolf down food like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Hey, what about me?" Sam asked as she fixed her own plate and sat at the table.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She passed him an empty plate from the cabinet. "There you go."

"You're not going to feed me?" Sam asked in mock disappointment.

"She doesn't love you," Dean responded with a smirk, his mouth full of food.

"Who's to say I love you?" She couldn't believe the way it felt to string those words together, even as a joke.

"You made me spaghetti and kept the nurses off me last night. If that's not love, then what is?" Dean replied.

"I'm just going to take care of myself then," Sam mourned. But within seconds he too was shoveling food in like it was going to vanish.

"I don't know how you two manage to keep yourselves in groceries the way you eat," she remarked after refilling Dean's plate. Sam was also on seconds.

"We buy cheap crap for us. But Scooter gets the good stuff." Dean sat up even straighter. "Shit. Scooter. We've got to let him out and feed him."

"I'll do it." She reached out her hand and Sam passed her his keys.

She walked down the hallway and could hear Scooter bark as she put the key in the lock. "Hey, boy! She ruffled his ears as he reared up on her legs, his little front feet just above her knees. She hooked his leash on his collar, expecting him to drag her to the door to go outside to relieve himself. But instead he paused and stared at the kitchen window. He gave a low, throaty growl and a short sharp bark, then snorted and walked into the hallway. A flash of white passed by the window frame, but so quick she almost missed it.

She walked with Scooter outside and went around the end of the apartments to the grassy area next to the parking lot. From there, she could see Dean's kitchen window, but there was no sign of anyone near. In fact, large holly bushes grew up right beneath all the windows on the ground floor, planted as a deterrent against people breaking and entering. No one could have gotten to that window without crawling over five feet of stickers and thorns.

"I am imagining things, Scoots," she declared to the little dog who was relieving himself copiously on the grass.

He sighed and shook a little as he stepped away from the grass and onto the sidewalk back toward the apartment. "Do you want to go in already?" she asked.

The little white dog looked across the parking lot at the black Impala in its parking place, then back at her, his little button nose twitching. Then he pulled her back toward the front door of the apartment building. "I guess you want to see your boys," she said with a laugh.

They walked back to her place, and as she opened the door, a flash of white crossed the kitchen window. "What the hell?" she declared as Scooter began to growl and bark. She unclipped the lead from Scooter's collar and the two of them ran across the room. She hopped onto the counter, her knees on the edge of the sink, and raised the window. She wanted to look out, but a screen blocked the way. She fiddled with the screws that held the screen locked into place on each side, Scooter growling.

"What are you doing?" Dean got up and limped toward her.

"There's something out there. I'm going to see what the hell it is." She decided she'd need a screwdriver to break the screws loose.

"No. Don't." Dean held his hand out toward her. "Close the window, Lizzy."

"I keep seeing something white outside the window. At your place and just now here," she declared. "Whoever this perv is, I'm going to catch his ass."

"Slow down, please, Lizzy," Dean put his hand on her arm. "Did you stop to think that maybe that window and that screen are what's keeping it out there? If you open them, it's like rolling out the welcome mat."

Lizzy stopped fiddling with the screws. Then she lowered the window sash and turned so that she sat on the edge of the counter, facing him. At this height, her face was level with his. "What do you think is out there, Dean?" she asked, staring him straight in those green eyes.

His eyes were honest as he answered. "I don't know. But you've seen it and I've seen it. The fact that Scooter barks at it, tells me it needs to stay out there. Maybe it's got something to do with Ranulf's place or the hardware store or that damned team of horses. But I trust Scooter's instincts. Whatever it is, it isn't good."

Scooter sat back on his haunches and looked up at her with his sweet face. He was calm again, which meant that whatever was there had gone. She didn't doubt for an instant that Scooter meant to protect them, though. No matter what was outside, this little seven pound dog was going to protect them all.

Speaking of all, "Where's Sam?" she asked. The dishes had been cleared from the table and since they weren't in the sink, she had to assume they'd actually put them in the dishwasher.

"He went back to our place for his laptop. He wanted to see if he could find out where that horse team came from. Maybe it's connected to all the rest of this craziness in your town," Dean walked closer until he stood right against the counter before her so that her knees were on either side of him.

"My town wasn't crazy until you showed up," she teased.

"Maybe your town needed a little Winchester in it," Dean replied. Then he put his hand on her thigh. His fingers were warm through the fabric of her yoga pants.

It was so unusual looking at him straight in the eye this way. Normally, he stood several inches taller so that she was always looking up at him. His pupils were still a little dilated. Funny how years of working with drug addicts had attuned her to all kinds of signs that someone wasn't straight. So she knew Dean was still a bit on the loopy side.

When he moved in to kiss her neck, she knew she should stop him. But when his hand went up under her shirt to the small of her back, her good intentions took a walk. He pressed against her, his chest against hers, his fingers in her hair, his mouth roaming down her neck and across her shoulder. Then both his hands went beneath the hem of her t-shirt and around her waist as his lips found hers.

Every nerve in her skin fired at once as she kissed him. Everything about him was so perfect, so strong, so beautiful. She felt like the sexiest woman on earth in that moment. She wanted nothing more than to give in to the desire that coursed through her, but the little sane voice in her head started to alarm. _He's not sober. He's got broken ribs. Now's not the time. Sam might be back at any second. Scooter is watching._

Nothing from the sane warning voice got through the rosy sweet touch of Dean's hands and lips until she felt her shirt began to slip up her body. She eased it down again and pulled her mouth away from Dean's. Her lips felt lonely, so she kissed his neck and whispered in his ear. "Now's probably not the best time for this. Sam will be back any second. Besides those ribs need to heal a little more, okay, sweetie?"

He sighed and pressed his forehead against hers. She thought he was going to back down, but instead he whispered in her own ear, "I'm just fine." Then he flicked the lobe of her ear with the tip of his tongue. "I think you're the one who needs more time."

He kissed her neck again, then reached up to cup her breast in his hand. Every warning her mother ever gave her raced through her mind and she knew she had to do something fast or her first time with Dean was going to be on a kitchen counter.

 _He's not sober!_ her little voice screamed at her and she knew the voice was right. No matter how good it felt, this wasn't the time or the place or the circumstances. The idea of having a first time with Dean thrilled her, but she owed it to him to make sure that he wouldn't look back on it with anything but happiness. No guilt, no embarrassment, no morning-after regrets.

"Hey, I'm an old fashioned girl, remember?" she reminded him. "No booty calls."

He sighed. "No booty calls." He took a deep breath, deeper than he intended apparently because he winced in pain. "Oh shit that hurts so bad."

"Come sit down, okay?" She hopped off the counter next to him. "You want to lie down on the couch?"

"Only if you sit with me," he replied. He eased himself onto the couch and lay down on the injured side. "Believe it or not, it makes it easier to breathe," he explained after he'd settled.

"You have way too much experience with injury," she declared. "We need to work on making your life safer."

"I'm safe enough right now. Sit next to me," he ordered. So she pulled up a big floor pillow and sat next to him. His fingers played in her hair until his breath grew even again and she knew he'd gone back to sleep.

What was she going to do with him? This was exactly what she'd known would happen. She'd fall in love and things would get serious and physical and she'd have to be the bad guy and shut him down. Otherwise, she'd just get her heart ripped out when he left again.

She hadn't meant to fall in love so hard, so fast. But deep inside, she knew it would happen from the instant she'd met the incredible force of nature that was Dean Winchester.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It had been a week since he'd said it. Two days afterward, he'd just been embarrassed. Four days afterward, he'd begun to panic. Now, seven days in to admitting he loved her, out loud, in front of her, he just felt sad.

She'd never mentioned it. She'd never said it back. She just went on with him business as usual. Well, not exactly. Not only had he said he loved her, he tried to put the move on her right there on her kitchen counter. She hadn't mentioned that again either.

But he didn't feel like she was giving him the cold shoulder either. In fact, in some ways he felt closer to her than ever. But knowing that she wasn't ready to say the words or take their relationship physically to the next level, made him sad.

And a little lost.

All the other women Dean had been with had said they loved him even though they both knew it was a lie or at least had screwed him hard enough to make him believe they felt something for him.

But Elizabeth wasn't like that. Whether she said the words or not, whether she wanted to be with him physically or not, she wasn't going to lie to him and she wasn't going to push him or let him push her.

He respected that. She was better than he was, stronger. And if she wasn't ready for the words or for the rest of it, he would wait. And he would show her he was a man worth waiting for.

So once his ribs had mended enough, he proceeded to do the manliest thing he could think of. He changed the oil in her little gray sedan because she didn't have any grass for him to cut. And he started asking questions about her parents. If he could somehow get on her dad's good side, he knew he'd be set.

But he still wasn't sure what he was going to say to him. "Hello, Mr. Coleman. I am in love with your daughter. Yes, sir, I am a hunter. No, sir, not deer. I hunt big game, sort of. How will I provide for your daughter? Well, I have a unique set of skills that I've spent years perfecting. No. No, sir, I am not like that guy off Taken. Well, I guess I am sort of."

Then her dad would throw him out of his house for being a nutcase. He was going to have to change a lot of oil. Or maybe drive a tractor. Or back a trailer. Or play football. Or hunt something other than a demon.

He was doomed.

Meanwhile, he kept dreaming about that crazy cadaver chick in that old cabin. And as long as it was just dreams, he didn't mind. After all, a dream was a dream. He'd dreamed enough about hell to last him a hundred lifetimes. That Kelly chick's crazy shit didn't have anything on what he'd experienced there.

Unfortunately, she started bringing the dog in to it. He began to have dreams that Sam was in trouble. First generic trouble as in couldn't find him. Then specific trouble as in eaten by wolves. But when the bitch started bringing Scooter into it, he really got mad. Especially when Sam found out the real story behind the out of control flour wagon.

"You'll never believe this." Sam flashed a stack of printer pages at him in an excited nerdy researcher sort of way. Dean believed he would never understand the thrill his brother got from reading something. "That Kelly cabin woman is connected to the team of horses that kicked the crap out of you last week."

"No way." Dean threw him a disbelief bone as he washed the grease from under his fingernails. Elizabeth's battery terminals hadn't been scrubbed in at least a year. Plus one of her tires had been two pounds lower than optimal.

"I finally found a write up on it back in an 1905 edition of the local paper. Mavis Kelly had an argument with the owner of the local general store. He claimed that when she left the building, she cursed him. Not fifteen minutes later, the driver of the wagon hauling a load of flour and other goods to the store lost control of them. They ran away with him, right in front of the store. The owner's six year old son was run down by the team and nearly died." Sam tossed the papers onto the kitchen table and pulled a beer out of the fridge.

He popped the top and took a drink, then gave Dean that look that meant 'and there's more'. He took another drink for dramatic impact and concluded, "The driver swore he saw Mavis Kelly standing on the street corner muttering something under her breath as he passed. Then the horses bolted for no reason."

"So she's a witch." Dean decided his hands were clean enough and popped the top on a beer of his own.

"And somehow she's back. Sort of." Sam set down his beer bottle and looked Dean straight in the eyes. "I've had some seriously crazy dreams lately."

"Just dreams, Sammy. Just dreams." Dean tried to ignore the way his blood pressure rose a few points. Sam didn't need to be dragged over into this, but he knew his partially-psychic, partially-psycho brother had been down the prognostication path before. He'd been reading signs and omens in the messages in his alphabet soup for years. He could take whatever visions a washed-up ghost hag like that could throw.

But the morning that Elizabeth came knocking at his door, all his patience evaporated.

It was about three a.m. on a Friday when he was awakened by Scooter barking in his face. Within a few seconds he realized that his little white dog was just trying to tell him to get his sleepy ass up and answer the door.

He opened it to see Elizabeth standing there, her eyes wide and her hair in sleep tangles all over her head. She was wearing pink pajama shorts and a big t-shirt. When she threw her arms around him, his first thoughts were that he'd won the lottery. When she started to sob against his bare shoulder, he knew something was bad wrong.

"I had the most awful dream," she sobbed. "I saw you die. I saw this woman in a yellow dress rip you apart."

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured into her ear. "It's okay. I'm safe. It was just a bad dream." Compliments of a nasty bitch who was going to get what was coming to her and then some, he decided. "Come on. You're shivering. Come lie down. It's okay, Lizzie. I'm here."

He led her back to his room and put her back to bed. When he grabbed a pillow and a blanket off a chair to go sleep on the couch, she grabbed his arm. "No. Don't go. We'll sit and watch television or something." She threw back the covers to get up.

"It's three in the morning, Liz. Go back to sleep. You've got to go to work in a few hours."

"I'll be okay. I just don't want to dream anymore. I can't take it."Her lip trembled as she fought back tears.

Against his better judgement, he slipped into the bed with her and pulled her into his arms. She fit perfectly, so soft and warm. He pulled the covers back over them both. "Sleep, sweetie. You sleep. I'm here."

He felt Scooter jump onto the end of the bed and curl up in his usual spot. "Scooter's here too. We'll protect you." She shivered and her heart pounded so hard he could feel it. After several moments her breathing began to slow to normal.

"I'm being ridiculous," she said. "I'm going to go now." But she didn't make any moves to actually pull away from him.

"You are not ridiculous." He squeezed her tighter. "I've been on the receiving end of that kind of nightmare," he assured her. "Trust me, what you saw wasn't just a bad dream. It was a kind of attack. Some spirits aren't strong enough to manifest in any other way, so they creep in your head at night and try to work their bad juju that way."

She lay quietly in his arms, but didn't say anything.

"What I'm saying is there's no reason to feel bad about having a strong reaction to them. You're not being a baby or a fraidy-cat. I've seen people sent to the nuthouse over dreams like this. I'm just proud you fought back."

She turned to look at him. "How did I fight back? I acted like a scared little girl. I can't believe I showed up at your door in my pjs in the middle of the night."

"I think you are adorable in your pjs," he said with a laugh and kissed the top of her head. "You fought back by coming to find me. You made sure with your own eyes that what that bitch was showing you was false. Some folks fall into the delusion and start to believe it. Those are the ones who end up in the hospital." He hugged her against him. "But nobody is going to tell my Lizzie what to believe. She's too strong for that."

"Too stubborn is more like it." Elizabeth mustered up a laugh of her own.

"Now you just lay here with me and go back to sleep. We'll give Sammy and Abigail something to talk about." He adjusted the covers over them and closed his eyes.

She curled up against him, finally relaxing enough to put her arm over his chest. Scooter turned in a circle three times at the foot of the bed before flopping down with a snort. Peace fell over the room like a soft blanket, enveloping him in a sense of belonging and well-being that felt completely foreign but completely wonderful all at the same time.

He never realized life could be like this. With all the traveling and fighting and sometimes losing everything, he never thought about how it would feel to hold everything in his arms in a place of peace and safety and love.

In that moment he knew how much he loved her. He knew how badly he wanted to spend every night for the rest of his life in her arms, to wake up each morning with her at his side, to face all the days ahead of him with her on his team.

He had no idea how he could make it work. How could he ever convince her family that he was worth her time? How could he protect her and keep things like this Kelly spook away from her? Then he considered how much worse he'd seen. How could he keep those things out of her life? And knowing what was out there, how could he not continue to hunt them, to erase them from the good and peaceful place he now knew the world could be?

 _Help me_ , he called to a God he wasn't sure of. _Help me do this thing right, for her sake._

"Dean?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"I love you." Her voice shook a little as she said it.

"It's okay. Go to sleep," he replied gently as an unstoppable warmth flooded him. He knew without a doubt that he'd finally come home.

-0-

Morning pushed at his eyelids and he became aware that part of his body was wide awake. Without even thinking of the consequences, he reached out for Elizabeth but she wasn't there. He frowned. "Where did you go?" he called but got no answer. At the foot of the bed, Scooter stood and stretched then gave him the eye. "Don't judge me, Scoots. I can't help it. It's morning."

All the same he was both glad and disappointed that she'd slipped out of bed before the rest of his body woke up completely. After a shower, he mostly felt robbed of the pleasure of waking up beside her, knowing she was there to meet the day with him.

He dressed and headed down the hall to try to catch her before work. He knocked at her door, then tried the knob. Since it was unlocked, he stuck his head inside. "Lizzie?" he called.

She stood at the kitchen counter, downing a breakfast shake, looking so pulled together and professional he almost didn't recognize her. "Good morning. You ran off on me."

She looked up at him almost guiltily. "I know. I'm sorry. I was afraid I'd be late for work." She put her glass in the dishwasher and looked at her watch.

"Sweetie, it's only six. What time do you normally get there?" he asked.

"Eight."

"I think you're fine on time, then." She tried to walk past him, not meeting his eyes. He reached out and took her arm. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I just feel really stupid." She finally looked at him. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"Hey, it's okay." He assured her as he pulled her into his arms. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I don't know how it can be fine," she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "This is so crazy, Dean. I feel like I'm going nuts."

"You aren't crazy. I'm going to deal with this situation and we're going to go on, business as usual." She tensed up in his arms.

"I don't know if I can do that."

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. "What are you thinking, Lizzie? Tell me." He held her away from him so he could see her face.

"This thing with us. I don't know if I can do it." She took a deep breath. "I said something last night that I probably shouldn't have."

"So you don't? You know, you don't?" he asked as ice settled into his veins.

"No, I do. That's the problem. I do and I don't know where it's going to go or how it can possibly all turn out right." A little curl of hair worked its way out of the twist at her neck.

He took the curl in his fingers. It was so soft, so delicate and precious. Everything about her was too valuable, too good for him. But so help him, he couldn't let it go, not for anything.

"Marry me."

The words hung between them.

"What?"

He dropped to his knees and took both her hands in his. _If you're going to do it, do it right,_ he told himself. "I love you. Will you marry me?"

Her eyes flew wide. "Yes. No. Maybe," she stammered. Despite the uncertainty in her words, he could see the smile that fought to take over her face. "Dean, think. Think about what it would mean to marry me."

"I have, Lizzie. That's all I can do," he stood and pulled her over to the couch to sit beside him. "I know I'm not educated enough for a woman like you. I'm not sophisticated. I know how to fix a car and shoot a gun and send evil crap back to hell. Only the fixing cars part belongs anywhere near your life. But I like who I am when I'm with you. With you I can see something ahead of me that I used to only dream about."

He ran his fingers into her hair, pulling more of it free from the pins that only barely held it. "I don't know how I'm going to live in your world because I'm sure as hell not taking you into mine. I don't know how Sam's going to take any of this. I have no idea how I'm going to convince your parents not to have me arrested. But I will. I will do all of it to be able to sleep with you every night and wake up with you every morning."

She reached up to rest her arms on his shoulders, threading her fingers together at the back of his neck. "I'm not daring enough for you," she began. "I have no idea how to kill monsters or even what monsters are real and what are still make believe." She smiled nervously. "Please tell me that some of them are still make believe."

When he shook his head no, she whispered, "Shit. I was afraid of that. The truth is, this life you've led scares me. I don't think I can keep up. I mean, if I was running for my life being chased by zombies I might get over the first fence because I just got my muscle-up at Crossfit. But I don't know if I could get over a bunch of them. I'd just slow you down. You'd be constantly having to look out for me. So, no. I don't think I would be a good hunter."

His heart sank. She was right. Turning him down was the smart choice. She needed someone better than him. Someone who could offer her a real life.

She continued, "But I think I could be a good wife. And I think you will be a wonderful husband. All I know is that until I met you, I didn't really know how much I missed you. That first night outside the hardware store, I could see it in your eyes. I knew the kind of man you were. Someone who never lets go, who always does everything he can to protect the ones he loves."

"I told you when we first met that I was an all-in kind of girl," she stated. "If I am yours, I am 100% yours. Until death. We mean business in our family when we love somebody. Are you up for that kind of commitment? No fooling around before the wedding. No cheating afterward. We play hard ball."

He couldn't help but smile like teenage boy. She said hard ball. "I'm in. For keeps. Better or worse. Death do us part. One team," he stated. "When do you want to do this? I hate long engagements."

"You better talk to my daddy first. If you aren't man enough to ask for my hand, we need to call this off now," she laughed, but he knew she was serious.

"Deal. Dinner. Tonight?"

"Okay, dinner. I'll cook and invite them over." She stood up and went to the kitchen. "What have I got to cook in here?"

"Have you mentioned me to them? At all?" he asked. "We could have roast. You make a mean roast. I can go to the store if you need me to."

"I've mentioned you. My mom already knows things are serious. She's been pestering me about meeting you for weeks."

"Weeks?" he was gratified. "So you've been serious about me for weeks?"

"You know that I have. Practically since we met."

"You did a great job of hiding it. I mean with the whole ignoring me for a week thing," he teased.

"That's only because I knew where this was going." She closed the refrigerator door and looked him squarely in the eye. "We still haven't talked about the big stuff. How are you going to marry me and still do what you do with Sam?"

He took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"And what about this evil Kelly woman that keeps giving me nightmares?" she added. "This town was so quiet. Now it's off the chain crazy with ghosts and crap."

"I'm going to fix the Kelly bitch today. And who knows what starts stuff up in a place? Something moved, something opened, something showed up." Dean took her hand. "Just know that I'm going to fix it. I love you and I like living in Hunter. I'm not going to let anything else happen here. Maybe shutting down Mavis Kelly's spirit will do the trick. Maybe she's behind it all. Ranulf did say he started to burn her house. That might have riled her up."

But even as he said it, Dean knew his explanation didn't really add up. However, the biggest link between all the events was the old ghost town on Ranulf's land. Maybe sending Kelly back to the grave would seal it all up again. At the least, it would end her attacks on Elizabeth, and that was something he sincerely meant to see happened.

He slowed Elizabeth down enough to eat a quick breakfast with her and stood in the doorway of her bathroom and watched her pin her hair back up into another twist. Her fingers moved so exactly, pulling the hair into a sleek roll with only a handful of bent metal clips to keep it in place. He was awestruck.

" Can I take it down again when you get home?" he asked. "It's like a puzzle. I want to take it apart."

"Yes, you can take it down." She kissed him lightly on the lips. He wanted to grab her and prolong the kiss, to deepen it, to hold her still long enough to begin the deconstruction of her hair and the removal of her clothes. But he'd promised to keep his hands mostly to himself.

He began to think over all the things he'd done and all the women he'd done them with. What was left? What could he do with Elizabeth that would be special? In all the years he'd slept with anything that would hold still long enough, he'd never been forced to wait on any woman. Maybe that would be it. The thing he would do for her that he'd never done before. He'd wait.

He helped her into her jacket and carried her briefcase for her as they walked to her car. He opened the door of the gray sedan and handed her in. He gave her a kiss and told her to have a good day at work.

He watched her car drive away into the distance, then headed back inside to his place. He threw open the door to his brother's bedroom. "Rise and shine, Sammy!" he called. "We're going on a witch hunt."

-0-

Several hours later, deep in the woods behind Charles Ranulf's house, the two men swatted at gnats as they made their way down a rutted dirt road, each carrying a large gas can.

"How much further?" Sam asked for the third time. "We've been walking for miles."

"We haven't gone more than 500 yards from the car," Dean snapped back. "It only seems like miles because you keep bitching every ten steps."

"There's no way we've been just 500 yards. I think you're lost and don't want to admit it." Sam sounded so self-righteous Dean wanted to knock the shit out of him.

"I am not lost. That damned cabin is just ahead. I can feel it. I can feel her. She wants me." Dean could practically feel the claws against his neck.

"You're still dreaming," Sam declared. They walked a few more steps and his brother stopped. "You dreamed this, right?"

Dean nodded. "I dreamed she ripped my throat out in that old rundown shack. I've seen every inch of that place. I know where it is. It's just up the road."

"It wants you there. But it doesn't want me." Sam set his gas can on the ground. "That's why it's doing this to us. It's trying to keep me from coming with you."

"So what are we going to do?" Dean asked.

"I'm going to turn around and go home."

"Fine. Go. Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam spun on his heel, picked up his gas can and headed back down the road.

Dean took a step back down the road, making sure not to walk too fast. Sure enough just as he rounded the next curve in the road, he smelled smoke.

"Good job, Sammy," he called out, but to his dismay the smoke wasn't coming from the ramshackle building before him. Instead his brother lay crumpled in a heap on the ground, flames circling him. "Sam!"

At the door of the shack, a thin form oscillated in and out of focus. "You didn't think I had it in me, did you? You thought I was just in your dreams," a woman's voice spoke out of the image.

"What did you do to my brother?" Dean snarled.

"No more than he was going to do to me," she answered. "You want him, you've got to deal with me." The form backed away into the house again.

"Sammy!" Dean called again, searching through the flames for any sign of life. "Sammy!"

He walked closer to the blaze but the flames only flared higher, forcing him back a step. The haint's powers were stronger here, he realized. Maybe back at his house she could only invade their dreams, but here on her own turf she was more dangerous than he'd realized.

He pulled his two shot pistol out of its holster and checked the load. Two shells of salt. In his jacket pocket he had three holy water balloons. He hoped it would be enough to hold her off long enough to burn that place to the ground, taking whatever pieces of her it held that gave her a toehold in this world.

"Come on in, boy," the voice hissed.

"Hang on, Sammy," he called to his brother. "I'll just be a minute."

But before he could take another step further, he heard the sound of roaring engines behind him. Dust rose from the road but he could make out two ATVs racing toward him.

One of them headed straight for the flames, spinning sideways as it burst through the wall. A man got off and pulled Sam to his feet.

The other drove toward the house, the driver pulling alongside the place. The driver reached into a cooler strapped to the back of the ATV and pulled out a bottle, lit the rag dangling from the top, then threw the bottle against the wall of the shack where it burst into a sheet of flame.

Another bottle, then another blasted against the wall of the falling down house. In only a few moments, the entire structure was ablaze, the old pine timbers bursting into hot flame.

"No!" he heard a voice screaming from the inside.

He took a few steps toward the front door. Someone was in there. Someone was trapped.

But a hand reached out. The driver of the ATV that firebombed the place grabbed him by the elbow. He turned to argue, but the driver pulled off her helmet.

Elizabeth.

"Don't listen to her, Dean. Listen to me."

The cries grew more anguished as the fire consumed the place. But he didn't listen to the expiring groans of Mavis Kelly's spirit.

Instead, he listened to his heart. He listened to his Elizabeth.


End file.
